Death Owns No Watch
by nuttyasafruitcake
Summary: In which Harry is born decades earlier and still ends up entangled in Tom Riddle's web. Even Death can't seem to leave him alone, because death doesn't care about a fickle thing like time.
1. I

**A/N:** This was supposed to be a rewrite of ' _Knowledge is Power'_. However, somewhere along the way the plot deviated completely from the original. And now, only a few scenes and ideas remain. Nontheless, I hope you'll enjoy!

A huge thanks to _Solthebookaddict_ for helping me!

* * *

 **When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.**

 **øØø**

 ** _12.02.1944_**

 **20:26**

 ** _The Kitchen Table_**

Time runs together with us as we age. A companion through life as we wake, walk and wither. Fates are discovered. We know nothing of our future. Years, hours and seconds from now are something to be uncover. As it should be.

All in due time.

No one knows.

No one, but death.

We progress with time, while death has no concept of time whatsoever. It does not exist as we do. It just is.

The past, present and future are of no importance.

If a title has been acquired once, it can never be lost, because somethings are meant to happen.

And some lives must end early. For another to begin.

 **øØø**

 **1937**

February had been unusually cold. A thin layer of snow was covering the rooftops and the streets were dusted in frost. Stars had migrated down onto the streets and were shimmering in the darkness.

Harrison could see his breath. Soft clouds of white smoke, an indication of his beating heart.

The streets were shrouded in darkness, lit up only by the light pouring out of several windows. Soft and yellow in their heat, an uncomfortable contrast to the white surroundings on the streets.

His hands were numb from the cold and his bare feet trembling in thin shoes. The piercing wind blowing through had no sympathy for his pitiful state.

Harrison brought his quivering hands up to his mouth in a futile attempt on breathing life to them. Warm, soft breath never quite reaching his pale fingertips. Only the chilling vapor biting into delicate skin.

A quiet 'click' and the window above him was shoved open. Then laughter flowed out along with the faint sound of Schubert's Ganymede. The one and only song, his mother owned. Harrison knew it by heart.

He stared silently up at the open window, pursing his lips in self-pity and stubbornness. Soon now, a few minutes and he would be able to heat up his frozen body.

And just as predicted, after another layer of frost, the front door swung open with a piercing squeak. Forest green eyes glancing up from his crouching position, Harrison observed the foreign man lean in to give his mother a final lingering touch and a couple of shillings. The metal cut through the darkness like a knife.

The elderly man stepped back and hurried down the front steps, only sliding a quick look at the young boy beside the door, before disappearing into a side alley.

Harrison pulled his knees closer to his chest, jaw tightening and teeth gnashing. His mother sighed loudly and he looked back at her just as she lightened a cigarette. A deep, rasping inhale and a smokey exhale followed by light coughing. Her lungs grinding against crumbling walls.

"Get inside, precious…" a quiet murmur, eyes drifting down the street. "It's cold outside." Her greying skin was covered in goosebumps. The brown scarf hanging over her bare shoulders doing little to keep the heat she had acquired minutes earlier.

His mother had been beautiful once. Even now, with her skeletal frame and chaotic, coal-black hair framing a picture of continual sorrow, she was stunning.

Fascinating and intriguing; drawing people in much like a particularly gruesome murder scene.

 **øØø**

Their apartment was shrouded in a constant mist of cigarette smoke and burned food. It clung to the walls and furniture, itching itself into the skin.

Consisting only of a clustered kitchen and a living room, with a bed and a deteriorating couch, it was no place for a child. Floorboards creaked, moulding pillows itched and the kitchen was drowning in dirty dishes, it was the only home Harrison had ever known. A painful couch was always better than the unforgiving streets.

"Dear, are you hungry?" She grinned widely, brown teeth gnashing against each other. Harrison looked away quickly, nodding silently in reply as he sat down by the kitchen table.

The table was a castle of dirty dishes and old newspapers. Towering over Harrison and leaving little space for eating. It seemed to increase in height every time Harrison washed something; an illustration of his decomposing house. He'd never be able to dig his way out of the dirt.

Harrison pushed at a pile of outdated newspapers, trying to make space. The push disturbed the fragile balance on the table and another pile of papers and some dishes crashed to the floor. He winced, shoulders lifting at the awful sound. Glancing up at his mother revealed her standing unbothered in front of the oven, cigarette in hand. A soft melody between her lips.

Sighing, his eyes glided over the tower of garbage and down on the piles of newspapers. And for some peculiar reason, one text caught his eye. Like a moth to a flame: a compulsion. Harrison leaned forward, eyes furrowing in confusion. As he focused at the article, he noticed another odd thing. Just underneath it was a completely clean, white envelope. It stood out like a sore thumb.

Harrison swallowed as he carefully pulled the envelope out from the pile. No one they knew would or could send a letter of such quality. Had it been sent to the wrong address?

Turning the letter over, he saw green lines on the front:

 _Harrison Law_

 _The Kitchen Table_

 _London_

Licking his lips, he glanced around in uncertainty. No one had ever sent him a letter before.

"Here you go," a cracked plate was placed in front of him and his eyes flickered up to his mother, sharp and unyielding. Her wretched eyes met his. "What do you have there, dear? Something for me? Something desirable? Shiny even? A necklace or a ring?" Years of poverty had made her avaricious. She was never able to quench the growing hole in her life. It could only be filled with things she could never have. Things they could never have.

"I was just cleaning the table…" he smiled faintly as he let the letter fall from his fingers. It fell down to the floor, mingling with old papers and broken dishes.

"Really? 'Cause that looks precious…" She was about to crouch down for it when Harrison's hand shot out, catching her elbow.

"Mom, what did you make for me today?"

It was like a switch. Her interest lost and regained. "It's porridge, darling! Pure deliciousness, yes, you'll love it. It is your favorite dish, isn't it?" Her thin hands were brushed past his chin into his hair. Tugging painfully at it as she brought him into an uncomfortable embrace. She smelled of burned porridge, cigarette and decay.

She pulled away, smiling, before strolling out of the kitchen.

Harrison bit his lips, bitterness hot in his chest. The porridge was pitch black. And so was the beautiful white letter when he finally picked it up from the floor.

 **øØø**

It wasn't before midnight that Harrison dared bring out the letter again. The couch frame was digging itself into his skin. Hard and unyielding as he tried to make himself comfortable, the letter heavy in his hand.

Forest green eyes glanced at his mother, who was deep asleep. Dark circles beneath her eyes and a raspy breath disturbing the silence. The smoke from her last cigarette still lingering in the air.

Harrison exhaled loudly as he carefully ripped paper. An attempt at disguising the sound of tearing paper. Afraid that the silent noise will awaken the unknown.

He closed his eyes and drew out the letter inside. The paper was thick and smooth.

Then after letting the silence bath him, he glanced down, eyes focusing in the night:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

 _Headmaster_

 _Armando Dippet_

 _Dear Mr. Law,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. Because of your blood status as Muggleborn, we will send a representative teacher to inform you further._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

 _Deputy Headmaster_

He stared down at the paper in disbelief for a moment before his mouth twisted in anger. A cruel trick. Clearly, sent to make fun of him.

Here he was, rotting away in the slums with his decaying mother and someone saw it fit to send him a letter filled to the brim with fairy tails and dreams. Such a cruel, heartless trick. The anger was hot in his chest.

The worst part was: it didn't matter if he believed it or not. No, he had read it and now his childish mind had taken control. Imagination gone wild, traveling over mountains and seas, away from everything he knew. A foolish, hopeful part of his subconsciousness already believing it to be real.

It cut deeper than any knife could.

No dream would ever help him on his way out of the rotting pit of garbage he had grown up in. It would only hinder him.

Harrison stared heatedly down at the letter, then crumbled it forcibly. Somethings were better to be forgotten. The more he thought about it the more it would infest his mind. Like a disease.

Throwing it away, he saw it bump into the wall before landing between two, greying pillows. He'd throw it away in the morning, maybe even burn it. Burn the entire house down with it.

He turned around, pulling the thin blanket over his shoulders.

"I'll get out of here, I will…" A whisper: a quiet promise to the darkness.

The darkness would remember.

Even if no one else did.

 **To be continued**


	2. II

**_A/N:_** A million thanks to Solthebookaddictfor! Enjoy!

* * *

 **II**

 **So go ahead. Fall down. The world looks different from the ground**

The letter had been forgotten a week later, or so he tried to tell himself. No matter how many times he reminded himself of the sheer improbability of the letter, his treacherous mind was stubborn beyond belief.

A step into the kitchen and he remembered the sheer whiteness of the envelope. As he pulled the blanket over him at night, his eyes zoomed in on the two greying pillows and the crumpled paper between them. And every time the image appeared he fruitlessly tried to forget it again.

The only issue was that repressed thoughts didn't stay forgotten very long.

Harrison leaned back against the wall, lips pursing in frustration. He'd migrated to the kitchen floor when his mother had left earlier that day. In there he could switch the oven on and use it as a makeshift fireplace. It was something he only dared do when his beautiful mother was out in town.

Now, perched on the floor, the newspaper in his hands were all but forgotten. Eyes glanced in thought, his body may be situated in the crumbling apartment but his mind was far, far away.

Over dangerous seas, windy hills and deep forests there was another world waiting for him. Hidden, he liked to believe, inside an evergreen forest a small, but well-kept, house stood. Untouched by dirt and darkness. The kitchen, clean and warm, always bathed in light. A warm pot of simmering food and the fragrance of safety.

And a father: another human being capable of strength and stability. In that flawless world, Harrison and his mother had never been abandoned. Deserted by a faceless figure he was incapable of remembering. A man, his mother told different lies about every time Harrison asked.

He had been killed, one unfortunate evening. Stabbed in a dark alley and left to rot. His robbed corpse had been found the next morning, slumped against the wall in a frozen puddle of blood. _He_ , always nameless, had been a soft-hearted man.

He had abandoned her for another woman, a redhead of remarkable beauty. All their valuables had disappeared with him. Her grandmother's precious necklace, their savings and her jewllery collection. _He_ had been a cruel man.

 _He_ , whoever he was, had been one of many men that had visited her. A man whose identity would never be known.

The lies went on. Different and more elaborate every time.

Harrison liked to believe that _he_ , his father, had been a loving, but powerful man with striking features. Intense blue eyes in contrast to his dark, curly hair. Pale and blue: an illustration of freedom and death, because he would only abandon them in death.

His father was free of wordly worries. Eyes milky blue in decay.

The kitchen was silent, except from the creaking house and the faint screams from the neighbor. They had fought daily as long as Harrison could remember. Children that terrorized other children, a mother that mistreated them and a father that abused her. He had no sympathy for them.

Harrison jerked in shock as three loud knocks rung though the apartment. The door screamed from the trivial pressure: one of these days a particularly forceful knock would bring it down.

He leaned forward to stare at the door. There were only one kind of people that came to their humble abode. Men and, in a few instances, women knocking on their door with one motive. To buy his mother.

After a moment in silence, he looked back at the newspaper. Then another sequence of knocks brought his eyes right back to the door.

It would be foolish to open the door when he was alone at home. For here he was, ten years old, slightly malnourished, weak and short. If something were to happen, then he would stand no chance.

Harrison bit his lips in consideration and just as he was about to ignore the knocks, the image of a white envelope flashed in the back of his mind. His face twisted in self-disgust and his chest boiled in uncontrollable curiosity.

Sighing loudly, he placed the newspaper down and strolled up to the door where he halted. One hand on the door-handle and another on the key.

He leaned in close to the door. "Yes?" Loud and clear.

Shuffling was heard on the other side, then a delighted breath. "Oh - goodness! Hello!" A masculine voice. "Wonderful weather, don't you think?" Delighted, much like a child. No, few children had voices like that. The happy sound of a content human being that quite possibly knew nothing of hardships. Harrison refused to acknowledge that he may or may not be judging the man on the other side of the door.

"I wouldn't know," he decided to go for, then, "What do you want?"

Shoes dragged over stone and a faint cough: a concealed laugh. "Now, now, my boy. I'm sure you've received the letter. There is no need for such suspicion," the man's smile could be heard through the door. Harrison's jaw tightened. Oh, his suspicion was entertaining, now was it? "You are Harrison Law, are you not?" A sickening voice. A kind one: kindness never came for free.

However, Harrison was only a child and no matter how many times he told himself that he, unlike others, had an intellect to be admired. It was a known fact in their household that he had an unusually curios mind.

 _Curiosity killed the cat._ A fleeting thought as Harrison turned the key and opened the door slowly. He peaked out as he told himself that it would make a difference if anyone tried to hurt him.

The man at the doorstep was in his late 50's, with long auburn hair and half-moon glasses. His hair blended into a fine, brown suit, but clashed horribly with the neon yellow shit and the purple tie. It was a chaotic mix of colors. Harrison's eyes immediately zoomed in on the gold chain by his pocket. A gold watch: it looked expensive. The glasses too had a thin gold rim. The old man did not belong there.

It was a wonder the man had made it down their street without being robbed. Odd even.

The man reached out his hand, smiling brightly. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, deputy of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry."

Harrison stared at his pale hand, refusing to open the door further to shake his hand. "A pleasure," he replied, eyes cold. This was the person behind the cruel envelope filled with dreams. "Why are you here? Is this some cruel joke?" It came out as a cutting whisper, his frustration visible beneath the surface.

Dumbledore's hand fell to his side and his smile fell. Blue eyes shimmering with barely concealed sadness: no pity, Harrison saw as much. "I assure you, I'm here with only good intentions." A sympathetic smile bloomed on his face. "More often than not does our subconsciousness lead us to the truth. And I'm sure you've known the truthfulness behind the letter from the moment you read it." The knowing glint in Dumbledore's eyes cut uncomfortably into Harrison. "Am I wrong?"

Harrison glared heatedly. "You're wrong, Mr. Dumbledore." He replied quietly. "I would've been delusional if I believed the letter… without poof." A lie paired with a dare.

A mirthful laugh. "Of course, of course," Dumbledore leaned forward to stare at Harrison. "You've got quite a head between your shoulders, boy!" Harrison was uncertain if it was a compliment.

Dumbledore brushed his hands over the brown suit, eyes glancing down the street. It was still early and the usually barren street was buzzing with life. Blankets drying from open windows, children running together and women yelling after them. The older man's gaze was warm but impersonal. After a few seconds, he looked back at Harrison. "How about we take this conversation inside? I'm sure you mother and father will be ecstatic to hear that you've been given the possibility to study at Hogwarts. It is the best wizarding school in Europe, if not the world!"

Jaw tightening at the mention of a _whole_ family, Harrison nodded slowly as he stepped back, allowing the man to enter the collapsing house. "It's just me and my mother…" His forest green eyes followed Dumbledore, daring him to judge him. "She's out on town, so she's not going to join us." Not if Harrison had a choice.

Harrison guided the man to the kitchen, cheeks heating in embarrassment at the chaos that greeted them. His eyes flickered up to the other man, whose face had smothered out into a mask of sincerity and compassion. Blue eyes darkened with something Harrison could not identify.

Dumbledore sat down at one of the few clean chair, eyes once again bright. "Let me give you a taste of the world we´re welcoming you into!" A cheeky smile. "A world of wonder," He wiped out a thin stick from his pocket and flickered it into the air. A shiver went though the room and everything came alive. "Of magic!" Forgotten sponges shuddered and sprang to life, flying over darkened surfaces and moudly spots. Old newspapers and dirty dishes flew separate ways. A whirl of soap, water and wonder. Harrison's eyes were wide in awe. His chest burning with excruciating hope.

Then, as sudden as it had begun, it ceased to move. The only proof that it had happened the slight fluttering of newspapers falling into place. The kitchen had been transformed. The destroyed chairs had gathered and the creaking floorboards were silent underneath Harrison's weight. It was silent, structured and foreign. And Harrison's eyes had, for the first time in so long, lighted up in childish amazement.

For so many years, had he been telling himself that the unusual things that happened had been a figment of his imagination. The fragile cup that had crashed to the floor, shattering before gathering itself again. The night horrors where pillows and candles floated to the roof. Odd, abnormal occurrences that Harrison desperately had tried to forget. He had almost succeeded in suppression the memories.

However, it was all too clear now. He was unusual, singular!

Dumbledore stared warmly at the wondering child. It never ceased to fascinate him, the innocent wonder that could be found in a child's eyes. Few things in the chaotic world could hold such purity. He leaned back in the chair that was notably less squeaky. Blue eyes twinkling with mirth. Unaware of the smoldering thoughts inside the child's head.

Harrison had been so certain that he would meet an early death together with his mother. A house fire taking them both one silent night. An unlucky day, a violent customer and a knife had been the most plausible cause. At least when he imagined the way they'd go. Now, however, the clear image of his cooling corpse was slowly, but surely, fading into his subconsciousness. Replaced with the image of an empty apartment, abandoned as he dug his way out of the dirt.

Frail fingers pushing the dirt away, nails blackened with mud, Harrison would dig his way out of an early grave.

Alone, he would stand above the corpses of the unfortunate.

Free.

 **øØø**

Harrison followed Dumbledore to the door and stepped outside along with him. An hour spent with the man and his numerous explanations had lessened his apprehension considerably.

"I can manage to get the supplies myself, but thank you for offering." Harrison smiled slightly, eyes lingering on the gold chain hanging from Dumbledore 's vest.

"Wonderful! Then I'll see you at Hogwarts in September." Dumbledore replied, then added. "Be sure to contact me if your mother has any questions. I'll be glad to bring some proof if necessary!"

Harrison had no desire to mention Dumbledore's visit to his mother. The plan now was to spend the summer in silence, biding his time until the train left for Hogwarts. There he would step into another world. A world of wonder and beauty. If it was anything like what Dumbledore had showed him, then it would not be anything like the world Harrison lived in at the moment.

Flying plates and self-cleaning dishes were already mind-blowing.

"Harrison, dear," a strike through the silence bought Harrison back to the darkening streets. Forest green eyes widened at the voice, seeking out the source as they landed on his mother only a few feet away. Dressed in black, her sickening white skin stood out like a lantern.

She stepped up beside them, studying Dumbledore with a keen eye. "What have I told you about going out when the house is empty?" Then she leaned forward to brush a light kiss on his forehead. An unusual act that brought warmth into his skin.

"It doesn't matter if I leave our house, there is nothing of value there," he whispered to himself. "nothing worth stealing." And it was the truth. Their home had no value, neither worldly nor spiritual.

"Nonsense!" She swatted his shoulder lightly, before her greediness took a turn for the worse. After all, in front of them stood a man with clothes of fine quality. She had never been the person to turn down a possible customer. "Now, who is this gentleman?" Eyes staring up at Dumbledore through thick lashes. A small smile on her cracked lips.

Dumbledore, who had chosen to remain silent until then, reached out his hand. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, a pleasure." He stepped forward to meet her hand. "You're Harrison's mother, I assume?"

Her coal-black hair fluttered as a gust of wind blew through the streets. She took the opportunity to draw it behind her ear, a shy gesture. "Cassandra Law," seeking eyes, devouring the man in front of her.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Harrison stepped closer to her, hand gripping into her shirt. "Did you go to the market, Mom?" Cassandra's visits to the market were few and far between. The place was far too bright for her fragile skin.

She looked down at him, hand brushing his hair from his face. "I'm supposed to be there at 1 o'clock, so soon." A delightful laugh. "I'm planning a feast tonight, dear. Roasted chicken with potatoes, even carrots. Doesn't that sound delicious? " Her fingers were warm and soothing as they brushed though his hair. A gesture only available in front of her customers. Harmless but oh so sought after.

Dumbledore shifted on his feet and pulled a watch out of his pocket, eyebrows creasing in confusion. "It's 4 o'clock, ma'am." He murmured.

"Oh," she breathed out, confused. She had left at 9 o'clock for the market that morning. "Well, I'll get the groceries tomorrow then. We should have something in the kitchen… How about porridge? It's been days since we ate porridge. Or…" They'd eaten porridge that morning. Burned as always with a teaspoon sugar for extra taste.

The silence cut into the air. Cassandra glanced back at Dumbledore, who stood stiffly in front of them. "Who are you again?" She seemed bewildered, eyes wild.

Dumbledore licked his lips as he brushed his glasses a bit further up his nose. Eyes seeking out Harrison's in a clear question. "Albus Dumbledore, ma'am. I'm the current deputy of Hogwarts." He repeated slowly.

Harrison stared down at his shoes, embarrassed.

"Hogwarts…?" Cassandra returned dumbly. Her clear mind had vanished leaving only emptiness behind.

"Yes, your son has been invited to study at Hogwarts, it's one of the most prestigious schools in Europe. A school for wizardry and witchcraft!" Dumbledore brushed his hands over his suit, eyes gleaming as he mentioned Hogwarts.

It felt misplaced to mention it out on the streets. Reality was too close here and it dulled the truthfulness behind the words.

Cassandra's eyes sharpened and she stepped hurriedly behind Harrison to gather him close to her chest. Fingers digging into his shoulders, she stared daringly at Dumbledore, whose mouth was set in a firm line."And how come Harrison has been invited?" Nails cut into Harrison's skin. "He's nobody and as far as I know, I've never applied him for boarding school at all… "

The doubt in her words was clear and the truthfulness hurtful. They were nobody, only two beings struggling with poverty. For the first time, Cassandra was trying to protect him from what she considered harmful. It was the only time he didn't need nor desire her protection.

The fists from her customers and the kicks from the neighbors had been something he'd require protection from. Not now, it was far too late.

Dumbledore looked conflicted, eyebrows creasing and mouth twitching. "Harrison is what we, in my world, would call a Muggleborn. A magical child born from two non-magical parents. It's quite exceptional and we've yet to discover why magic crosses the border between our worlds to manifest in the child of two Muggles." The entire monologue was slow and clear, warmth lacking and sharpness beginning to worm itself in.

Cassandra stepped back, dragging Harrison with her towards the door. "I'd like you to leave." She hissed, eyes wide in fear.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore stepped forward, hand reaching out toward them in confusion. He clearly wasn't used to such rude dismissals. Harrison would've thought the man was used to such reactions. The entire premise that he came from another world, one of magic, was improbable without proof.

Opening the door without turning her back to Dumbledore, Cassandra pushed Harrison inside. "Yes," she backed slowly. "goodbye, Mr. Dumbledore." Then she slammed the door shut, leaving the man alone on the streets, hand outreached and eyes cold.

Cassandra was leaning agains the door, breathing heavily. Her hair was a wild mess and her hands twitching.

"Mom," Harrison began slowly. "he was telling the truth. I saw it… look at our kitchen, you can't explain that. I'd like to go there, to Hogwarts." With no possible way of showing her what he'd witnessed, there was no way he could change her mind.

The entire premise was unbelievable.

"No," her eyes cut into him, daring him disagree.

Harrison stepped forward. He had to go there, one way or another. "Mother, wh-" the sudden pain was unexpected and the loud slap of skin against skin rung in his ears. His cheek was warming in pain and his head cooling in anger.

Their eyes clashed and Cassandra straightened her posture to look down on Harrison, hand twitching. "Magic doesn't exist, Harrison." A finger pointing at him. "Miraculous escapes from _this_ isn't possible." Cassandra brushed past him, pushing him out of the way.

Harrison nursed his burning cheek. The act hurt more than the slap itself. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

None of it mattered. His mother, their house or their poverty. He'd been given a way out and he intended to use it.

Her jealousy only fueled his motivation.

She'd have to die alone.

 **øØø**

Then, one quiet September morning, Harrison Law had jumped out of the window of Cassandra's apartment, intending on never returning. Her quiet snores and nasty coughs followed him out onto the sleeping streets.

Dumbledore's miracle in their kitchen had held for a week. Then the rot had set back in and the darkness had retuned. Along with the madness. Long nights filled with his mother's bitter tears and whimpers. Days painted with moans and screams. A maddening mixture, a never-ending death.

Harrison wanted to cut it from his skin with a knife.

Luggage slung over his shoulder, he ran though the silent streets. Breath coming out his short breaths and eyes burning.

He would never return.

King's Cross Station was overwhelming. Too many platforms, long rows of people and no information.

One would have thought that finding a platform would be an easy task, but no matter where Harrison looked platform 9 ¾ was nowhere to be seen.

Platform 9 and 10 could easily be found, but there existed no platform between them.

Time was running short and in a final leap of desperation, he ran up to a guard by the entrance. "Excu…" he snapped his mouth shut and turned around to run back, ears burning in embarrassment. He'd understood that non-magical people knew nothing of the magical world. The station could not possibly be out in the open.

He turned around, eyes searching for something, anything of out the usual.

Nothing: only people running back and forth. Luggage in hand and a clear destination in mind.

Harrison could feel the panic spread like a disease. Hot and confused, he sat down at a bench, biting his lips in worry.

"You there," a raspy, whispering voice and when he turned his head, he noticed a greying woman sitting by his side. He hadn't noticed her. Had she been there earlier? "I know where the station is, young master…" Her voice was like the silent breath of the wind. He had to lean closer to catch her words, like sand slipping between his fingers.

Her hair was thin and withering, as grey as her palling skin. Eyes cloudy and clothes fading into the background. Her entire existence was a fading one. Grey upon grey with little to no color.

Harrison stared suspiciously at her. "How do you know?"

Knowing, unseeing eyes. "I know these things, wizarding boy." She laughed, the sound of shattering porcelain.

"How?"

"Some things should not be questioned. I saw your struggling, the desperation in your eyes. Take it as a good fortune, luck, whatever you want. It does not change the fact that your train leaves in less than 10 minutes." She lifted a trembling, thin arm and pointed out into the crowd. Harrison's eyes followed the movement. "You see that wall between platform nine and ten? Walk directly into the wall." An innocent wall, ignored entirely by the masses. "Now, go… Harrison."

A cold shiver ran down his back and his head whipped in her direction, only to find an empty bench. Breath catching, he stood up in a hurry. Eyes seeking as the world spun.

The greying woman was nowhere to be seen.

Only a sea of people.

 **To be continued**


	3. III

**A/N:** Thanks a lot to Solthebookaddict!

* * *

 **Hell is empty and all the devils are here**

 **III**

 **øØø**

The Hogwarts express was a sight to behold. A focal point that drew everyone towards it with a strange, inviting pull. Its appearance wasn't anything out of the ordinary and it could easily be overlooked: if one only saw the train as a heap of metal.

For Harrison, the train was a representation of the magical world. The first step he took, away from cold, grey London and into the green landscapes, towards the unknowns. The Hogwarts Express was so much more than just a _train._ It was a gatekeeper.

Unyielding, sturdy and permanent.

The platform was buzzing with energy, crowded with students and their families. Tearful goodbyes and ecstatic laughter, their happiness grated at his nerves. It stung in his chest to see children at his own age being embraced in loving arms. He was _not_ jealous.

The corridors and compartments weren't anything spectacular; faded colors, heavy sliding-doors and dusty floors. Even so, it was warm and welcoming, nothing like his mother's grimy apartment with it's ever present cold and dirt covering every surface. Harrison sat down and relished at the smooth cushions. No painful springs digging into his back.

He glanced bitterly outside, swallowing harshly. The crowd was thinning, only a few families remaining as the train shook in its tracks. For a single miserable moment, Harrison imagined _her_. Clean clothes, a healthy complexion and a warm smile as she waved goodbye. An image of his mother that didn't exist.

The unexpected grief swallowed him up and he reached down with trembling fingers to adjust his cuffs. She may have been incapable of caring for him, but somehow she had wormed her way into his heart. And no matter how much he screamed to himself that he _hated_ her, she still remained. Latched to his emotions like a leech.

However, now that he had escaped maybe she'd let him go. _He_ had to let her go. Sitting on the train to a world of wonder, the future was filled with endless possibilities. How could it now? If a kitchen could clean itself with a swish of a wand, Harrison could barely imagine what else could be done.

Surely anything imaginable was possible.

His shoulders hunched. He had a sinking feeling that it was all a dream, too good to be true. And soon he would wake up to the smell of his mother's burned porridge biting into his nose. Harrison dug his nails into his wrist as he sat down, clutching his eyes close as he counted silently to ten.

The compartment remained unchanged when he opened his eyes again. Empty and aging with dull blue seats and a foggy window. Harrison inhaled deeply before exhaling in relief. The smell of dusty, unused seats and humid air creeping through the window cracks. Completely unfamiliar and enough to calm his nerves.

In another life, he'd been _clever_ , and ignored those three knocks. Gone about his day and probably ended his life early. He imagined he'd frame his mother: she deserved nothing less. _A lie,_ he knew, but he tried to believe it. Whisper it enough and it'll no longer be a lie, but truth.

Harrison leaned back against the seat. So soft; deceptively warm in its kind embrace. He didn't dare relax completely, subconsciously terrified that it would swallow him up if he exposed his weakness.

Still, his tense muscles loosened up, dulling his mind.

The rain was pouring down outside, running down the windows like tears and obscuring the landscape beyond. A soft smile pulled at his lips. The rain did wonders for the earth, bringing the landscape's vitality into sight. Blindingly green, much like his eyes.

The hours passed slowly, but pleasantly. He'd been lulled into a clam state of mind, not entirely asleep but neither awake. Stuck in a sheltered state between two world.

He lurched awake in shock when the compartment door slammed open with a bang. Disoriented and tense, he stared at the cause of the noise, a girl. She was obviously older than Harrison, but still young enough to be a student. High cheekbones, long lashes and long, wavy hair. She was glowing with youth and beauty. Her eyes cut through the air, leaving a bloody path in its wake.

Eyes landing on Harrison, her mouth twitched in displeasure, before she lifted her head and strolled up to him to sit down in the seat in front of him. She crossed her legs and straightened her back in a practiced manner.

Harrison's eyes flickered momentarily to the open door then back at her. She had yet to mutter a word. Licking his lips, he inhaled. "And you are…?"

She snorted, pushing locks of heir behind her shoulder. "I've come to warn you," A cruel smile. "Now, you probably think you know everything and that _this,"_ she made a vague gesture. "is some astonishing, marvelous dream. Isn't that right? You've read it all, practiced what you can and now… Now, you are ready to take our - _my_ \- world by storm?"

The wind outside had picked up and the rain was slamming against the window. Harsh and loud, almost drowning out her cold words. Harrison's jaw tightened. "No." Their eyes met. "You know nothing." Fine, expensive clothes and gold earrings, her wealth was obvious. Ignorance inked into her skin.

She laughed loudly. " _How amazing, how could this have happened to me. I must be so special!_ " Her pearly, back eyes shone in delight. "A word of advice," she stood up and leaned forward to grip Harrison's chin, black nails sinking into his skin. The forest in his eyes was burning, a sinking feeling in his chest. "We don't want you. Never did. You're nothing but an abnormal, damned _creature…_ No… _disease_ that we can't cure. Muddled both in flesh and blood, what worth are you to our society? We're only inviting you in, 'cause you'd put the law of secrecy in danger."

Harrison felt dizzy, a numbing sensation spreading through his body. A thin, almost unnoticeable, layer of ice had begun to spread across the window and the temperature dropped noticeably.

Letting go of his chin, she brushed her hands down before gripping his tie. The sudden change in temperature went unnoticed. She was whispering now. "Are you wondering where my advice comes in?" Dripping with honey as she tightened his tie uncomfortably. "Your survival depends entirely on us. _Us,_ who'd rather you didn't exist. So, listen carefully now, boy. _Know your place._ You're bringing filth with you, it's etched onto your skin. And we wouldn't want that to sully our pure, would we?"

He had been waiting for the shock to set in, but it never came, only a slow, chilly realization.

"No? Good," she leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Walburga Black, a member of the Noble and most Ancient House of Black." Her smile oozed with distaste. "You'll thank me later, mudblood." Then she stepped back to examine Harrison. Whatever she had expected, his cold stare seemed to vex her because her face twisted nastily.

Walburga lifted her head and was about to turn when her eyes fell on the window. Glanced over in ice and completely cutting of the view. Mouth thinning, her confusion was obvious. An unnatural crystallization that obviously had been caused by an unnatural force. She stepped back, staring down at Harrison before storming out of the compartment. Slamming the door close in her hurry.

As though a breath had been kept, the ice melted with a simple, painful exhale.

Harrison stared down at his hands. Pale and thin, a clear lack of proper nutrients. In her eyes he'd seemed weak, a proper victim and easily manipulated with threatening words. He could see it clearly. A desperate need to belong and a naive mind, so easily broken.

A gentle smile and clear, green eyes. Rain thundering in his ears.

He should've known better than to hope for the impossible. The imagination had endless power in the mind of the hopeful. Harrison had let himself be swept away by the sea, embraced by what-could-be and what-would-be. It had been delightful for a while. However, now only a painful residue remained.

Harrison placed a hand over his heart and closed his eyes.

 _Thumb-thumb._

 _Thumb-thumb._

 _Thumb-thumb_.

An oddly gentle pain, like his heart had been cut out with silk. Rose petals, red and bleeding left behind.

 _Yes_ , he thought, _the world hadn't changed at all._

As soon as he outran one demon, another took its place.

 **øØø**

Harrison was exhausted by the time the train arrived at the station. Skin twitchy in uncontrollable anticipation and suspicion. The sky was completely clear by the time he stepped out of the train. Not a cloud in sight, only a blinding blueness. It had done nothing for his darkening mood. In fact, the more he gazed down the horizon the more bitter he became.

He supposed he owed Walburga a favor. Without her cruel words, he would've walked off the train with the misconception that he'd escaped. No judging stares, poverty or injustice, only endless possibilities. The unfairness tugged at his skin like a hock. He'd been such a fool.

The fatigue was slowing his mind, muddling his troubling thoughts. A suffocating mess of emotions that had no end nor beginning. Their opinions had no physical power, only emotional and he refused to bow down to their wishes and expectations. He'd show them how _inferior_ he was.

They were rounded up by an elderly man as he stepped down the stairs. Thinning hair, missing teeth and a glazed gaze; the man only gathered snide comments and cruel laughs as they were ordered to follow him. He only grinned widely at them and began to trudge up a nearby hill.

Muddy and slippery after the rain, many first years's expensive clothes met a grimy fate. By the time they saw the castle clearly, Harrison's shoes were clogged with water and mug. Sweat running down his back as he breathed out harshly. A discreet glance at the some of the other revealed hunched backs and annoyed glares.

Shivering and cold, they were ushered into a small entrance hall where the elderly man strictly told them to stay put. His wrinkled features pulling and twisting in barely concealed irritation, before he disappeared through a side door.

He came back minutes later, closely followed by Professor Dumbledore, who smiled brightly. "Welcome! To Hogwarts!" He opened his arms, unusual robes shimmering in various colors. "Now, for the sorting!" Nothing else was said or explained as he turned around and pushed a pair of wooden doors open.

Harrison's breath hitched. There, inside a large hall, floated countless of lit candles. Thousands of stars in a slightly cloudy sky. Here the impossible was possible.

They followed Dumbledore's sparkling robes through the hall towards a slightly raised platform. On the edge stood a stool with an old and battered hat. Lifting his hand, Dumbledore glanced down them over his glasses, eyes twinkling. "Wait here," then he stepped up beside the hat and cleared his throat. "I`ll read your names up in alphabetical order! When I call your name come up here and sit down, the hat will sort you into the House that will be your home until graduation!"

"Bergström, Ad…" The names blended into each other as Harrison gazed around the crowded hall. Silent, expect from a silent buzz in the background. Knowing eyes focused on the hat.

"Law, Harrison." Swallowing nervously, Harrison walked stiffly to the stool. He avoided Dumbledore's eyes, focusing on the stone floor. He sat down and the hat fell down over his eyes, shrouding him in darkness.

"You're back, I see?" A thin, raspy voice slithering inside his head: a trespasser.

Harrison's jaw tightened. "What?" His voice felt uncomfortably loud.

"No, no," followed by a light laugh. "You cannot change my mind this time."

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and was about to open his mouth to voice his bewilderment, when a screeching voice thundered above him. "Slytherin!" Harrison jerked in shock and felt his cheek heat at the snickers that followed. Ripping the hat off, he passed it none too gently to Dumbledore as he glanced uncertainly around.

The cold stares emitting from one particular table was all he needed. They were eerily quiet as he walked toward them and slipped into a seat at the end of the table. He swallowed harshly, deciding to stare down the table instead of meeting their silent judgement. Harrison could see it clearly. The table was overflowing with rot here too.

 **øØø**

A green tinge hung over the room. Low-backed back and dark green button-tufted, leather couches and large bookshelves made up most of the room. Magnificent, in the way a chilly landscape was. Cutting and cold, but beautiful nonetheless.

"Now, before you retire, our Head of House, Horace Slughorn would like speak to you. Usual guidelines. Nothing serious." The dark haired prefect nodded respectfully at the pudgy man at her side, stepping back to let him speak.

"Now," Slughorn straightened his back, a futile attempt at seeming taller than he, in fact, was. "Nothing specific today," he glanced down at a note in his hands, licking a his lips. "You'll receive your schedule tomorrow. Any crucial information… Yes… Tomorrow, boys and girls." Swollen facial features and a hungry face. "Dormitories are obviously to your right and left," he waved in the direction, nodding quietly to himself. "Now, you may go. You all know the rules…" The other first years scattered, pushing against each other towards the stairs. Excitement clear in their eyes.

Harrison moved to follow, but was stopped by Slughorn's firm hand clasping his shoulder. "Mr. Law, you may stay." He declared loudly.

Harrison pressed his lips together and stepped farther away, forcing the man to let go off his shoulder. "Yes," he fastened his gaze on Slughorn twitching fingers.

Slughorn's lips pulled down in a contorted smile. "What a surprise!" He said, clasping his sweaty hands restlessly. "A Muggleborn! In my house!" Their eyes meet and a bitting silence filled the room. Slughorn smacked his lips together. "You're the first of your kind we've had in a long while. How proud you must feel!" He leaned forward, expectation clear in his face.

Harrison was at a lost for words. Swallowing he nodded quietly and tried to pull up the proudest expression he could muster. It resulted in a screwed sight. Eyebrows drawn down in befuddlement, mouth twitching upwards and nose scrunched up; a mixture of emotions.

The silence that followed would be remembered years to come: pure awkwardness at its finest.

After a while, Slughorn coughed, sweat shimmering on his skin. "Well, all good and well… " His eyes twitched between focus points, never really settling. "Oh, yes… Since you're a mu… muggleborn so there are certain information I'm required to give you." He pushed his chest out as he slipped a small envelope out of his front pocket. "These papers are for… hmm, muggleborn registration… They're very important, please don't forget to send it in."

Harrison took the envelope carefully, eyebrows furrowing as he stared down the blank surface. "Muggleborn registration?" Then as an afterthought he added, "Sir."

Slughorn glanced around, sighing harshly. "Well, Headmaster Dippet and, of course, the law clearly states that every muggleborn must register upon arrival." It was only a repetition of what he'd said seconds earlier.

Harrison clasped his own wrist tightly. "Why?" The overwhelming bitterness was boiling over. "If you don't mind me asking? Does Purebloods need to register too?"

The other man scoffed. "Oh goodness, no. They don't need to be registered."

"What?" A whisper was all he managed as he felt the ice crack beneath his feet.

Slughorn shivered slightly, pulling at his robes. The night was closing in and the temperature was dropping. "Well, Mr. Law… You see there are - hmmm - certain professions in our world that don't accept Muggleborns. By registering children of two muggles we evade complications. It is a very thought out system. " The man had the audacity to laugh warmly.

Harrison stood frozen in front of him, mouth opening in question.

Holding up his twitching hand, Slughorn shook his head. "No, before you begin accusing me - us - treating you lot differently, you must know that we are only protecting you. Yes, from your own foolishness. There are certain branches of magic your body cannot handle. It would be dreadful if some of you tried to do the impossible and killed yourself in the process." His head jerked back, a small smile on his small lips. "Oh dear, just imagine it. A muggleborn trying to achieve an animagus transformation and completely destroying themselves in the act. Horrendous. The world has never been fair, Mr. Law. It would be better to learn that now"

The day had begun bathed in sunlight, wondrous and blinding. However, as hours passed by it had darkened. Slowly but surely, consuming the light until Harrison lost his sight. Blindness in a world that was uncomfortably similar to his own. Without the magic it would've been worse.

Harrison stared into Slughorn's grey eyes. "I thought magic accepted every wizard, no matter blood." Surely that was the case.

Slughorn laughed, hand resting on his stomach. "In a perfect world that would be the case. The problem, you see, is that your body is not built on the same _material_ as we pureblood are. I am far from an expert on these studies, but from what I know it's because of your _flesh_. You are a result of two non-magical begins and therefore your flesh is non-magical. Only your soul is magical. Therefore are there some transformations of the physique and mind that your body simply cannot manage."

"I see…"

Rubbing the nape of his neck, Slughorn pressed his lips together. "Well, yes, good day…" He nodded, more a habit than a gesture of courtesy and stalked out.

The flames flickered in the fireplace, trying fruitlessly to breath some warmth into the freezing room.

Harrison's skin prickled with cold.

 **øØø**

 _A Muggleborn's physique is composed of Muggle flesh: frail and incapable of carrying magic. Their soul accepts while their flesh rejects. A clear disharmony: an abnormality in magic. [..] They are a result of lost, corrupted magic. [..] Squibs have been forsaken from magic. However, they can, as a result of pure flesh, view our world. [..]_

 _The sustainability of a wand depends on the core. The core decides which branch a magical individual is best suited for. White, grey and dark: the three main branches._

 _[..] It is a well known fact that dragon heartstring and phoenix feather are cores best suited for the darker branches of magic. Muggleborns cannot be accepted by such a core._

 _* A Study of Blood, Flesh and Magic: A Muggleborn Edition by N. D. Glinthawk (1721)_

 **øØø**

That night, as Harrison hid himself beneath layers of heated blankets, the gravity of the situation hit him. _This_ world had no desire for him, nor any sympathy for his struggles. He was a necessary evil taken in to protect _their_ world from _his_.

He curled up, gripping his wand tightly in his grip. The heat was suffocating, burning through his very skin. Heavy blankets embracing him cruelly.

Exhaling slowly, Harrison glared into the darkness. If his wand could be broken, so could theirs. No matter how pure their ancestry was. All blood was red and all men could die.

 **To be continued**


	4. IV

It's been too long, TOO LONG, since I posted a chapter. Been busy with university and family issues, but now that I'm finally finished with my exams I have time and inspiration to write again!

I've been struggling with this chapter. It's necessary for the story to progress, but not much happens and there's a lot of internal development, which ends up as a lot of description and not much dialogue. However, I managed to finish it!

Not the longest chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it! XD Your continuous kudos and comments gives me life! Thanks a lot!

(Disclaimer, it hasn't been beta read and since I'm not a native English speaker, please let me know if you see any glaring grammatical mistakes)

* * *

 **To Define Is To Limit**

 **IV**

 **øØø**

 _Dark clouds were handing low on the sky, giving the city a depressing grey hue. It had been pouring for days now. Drops falling down to nourish the moss covering the pavement, one drop at the time. In a city of smoke and rain, the only color came from the thriving moss._

 _Harrison swayed on his feet. Rain poured and within seconds his clothes were soaked though, dripping with water and weighting him down. He glanced down at his feet, staring hopelessly at the moss. The world shivered around him and as he stared the moss grew before his eyes. Small sprouts appeared and flowers sprouted. Greenery filled his sight, blinding him with its vitality. Soon enough the hideous grey cobblestones beneath his shoes were covered with a blanked of vegetation._

 _He pushed himself forward, moving quietly down the path as plants sprouted beneath his soles. The wind rustled through his curls, calling him further down. By the time he saw his destination - yes, he knew where he was going - Harrison could feel leaves and spines curling around his legs, licking his bared skin. Softly, tenderly trying to seduce him, bring him back to where he came from. Harrison glanced behind him only to see buildings falling apart under the spreading greenery. Now that the flora and fauna had devoured familiar buildings it no longer felt inviting. He swallowed and quickly turned his back on the wild, attempting to ignore their alluring song._ _Harrison's attention fell upon a door on the nearest building. Cracked and splintered from old age, it made him hesitate in uncertainty, but he knew, somehow, that the door was the only reason he had dared to venture further down the dark alley._

 _Harrison could do nothing else but stand frozen and stare at the entrance. Unable to move his limbs. The door had, without a doubt, been vividly green at some point, but now, after years of rain and storms the color had faded. Only specks of green paint remained._

 _He inhaled slowly, fresh air cooling his nerves, as he stepped closer. Pressing his palm against the door, Harrison felt the uneven surface move beneath his skin. A slight push and the door slid open to reveal consuming darkness. It beckoned him inside, tempting him with songs of glory and awe. The wilderness behind him was all but forgotten as he exhaled sharply and the darkness lounged forward, enveloping him as it pulled him inside._

 _The ageing door slammed close behind him. The sound of buildings disintegrating rumbling in his ears._

 _A swirl of confusion, voices and odd clothing rushed by Harrison's senses and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he was dreaming. Then, like emerging from water, he found himself standing in front of a solid brick wall. It seemed familiar, he had been here once before. Harrison reached out, fingertips reaching for cooled stone. He jolted in surprise as a cold breath caressed his neck, hand freezing. Chapped lips pressed against his ear, excruciatingly tender. An incomprehensible whisper, lost behind his thundering heart, and the stone wall melted, dripping down to reveal a world._ _His breath got caught in his throat and as Harrison felt the ghostly breath withdraw, he stepped forward. It was unlike anything he could have imagined. Excitement and wonder blossomed in his stomach, restlessness twisting at his feet._

 _Here, the sky was clear. Not a single cloud in sight as far as the eye could see. Unlike the dirty streets of London, the bricks were clean and even. Sun heating his pale cheeks. The street running downwards was barren, not a soul in sight._

 _Harrison closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet fragrance. All around him, every brick and stone on the buildings, were built by enormous gingerbread walls, draped in chocolate icing. White glaze, cotton candy and an overwhelming aroma of sugar. The ground was sticky with sweetness and each step was a struggle, shoes glued to the pavement._

 _A whisper slithered through the back of his mind. Something uncomfortably familiar and the instinct to run rushed past him. However, as soon as it appeared he had forgotten about it and a smile broke out on his face. Nothing as sweet, sugary and welcoming as this could be dangerous. Harrison moved with cereal steps further down the alley, without a clear purpose in mind._

 _Nonetheless, he'd unknowingly decided to walk towards the one building that stod out like a sore thumb among the sugary surroundings. Unlike all the other buildings, this one was build with old bricks and heavy metal. Large windows filled with wands. Worn from age, Harrison couldn't fathom why he moved towards it. Certainly he'd have a better time in any other place where ehe could gorge himself in sugar and cakes! His mind rebelled and tried to take control of his unruly legs, but they kept moving towards the ominous structure._

 _Moved by an unknown force, he stepped up to the door staring through the glass. It was dusty and dark cluttered with boxes upon boxes. Swallowing, Harrison grasped the door handle, preparing to follow the stream. Just as he pulled it down, the door swung open and he fell back as a shadowy figure rushed by._

 _Momentary confusion came upon him as he glanced behind himself. A few meters away, standing silently on the sticky pavement he saw himself. His twin, however, was shadowy and vague. A wand gripped tightly between the its thin fingers._

 _The environment shimmered and darkened, a shadow falling over the sugary buildings. Harrison stepped back, uneasy, as shadows began to stream down the street. Transparent at first, but as time passed they solidified and formed into tall, pitch-black figures in colourful clothes. Like a road of ants the shadows all moved in one direction, with purpose. In the middel of the stream Harrison's own phantom was standing, untouched and ignored. Until a shadow dressed in red halted to grip the phantom's shoulders. From his position, Harrison could see nails biting into black skin, pushing forth a thick, oily substance._

 _A face full of white teeth and suddenly all Harrison could see was the red-dressed shadow guiding his own phantom into a gingerbread house. The gingerbread door opened to reveal a sugary household with a dark, rusty oven, flames bright and devouring inside it._

 _Harrison opened his lips to scream, yell or beg, because suddenly he was no longer standing by the worn, wooden door. Nails were digging into his shoulder, pushing him towards the open oven hatch. The flames tightened his skin, the wand broke in his hand and in the corner of his eye, the shadowy figure smiled warmly._

 **øØø**

Harrison shot forward, breath caught in his throat as he grasped after his wand. It did nothing to soothe his trembling figure, if anything, the presence of the wand between his fingers increased his anxiety. He lacked to knowledge to feel secure behind a stick of wood. A hysterical chuckle passed his lips. He'd feel safer with a knife. At least then, he knew how to use it properly.

He pushed the blanket off and slipped out of the bed. A warm shower was the only cure to nightly horrors. Or so he had heard. A quick glance towards the other beds revealed closed curtains and quiet snores. Harrison could almost appreciate that the nightmare woke him up earlier than normal. Maybe this way he could avoid his housemates.

The shower area was pleasantly silent. The only sound his bare feet moving over blindingly white tiles. Hurriedly stripping out of his sweaty pyjamas, Harrison stepped into a warm steam of water. Sighing in content, he let his eyelids slip down. Slowly but surely the heat warmed his body down to his bones. Bringing renewed calm over his frazzled mind.

Harrison wondered, momentarily, if this was what safety felt like.

The freezing water came as a shock and he swirled around, confused and panicked. Too late, it seemed, as a couple of harsh hands pushed at his shoulders and he stumbled out of the warm shower, shoulder hitting the wall painfully. Harrison's heart was thundering in his chest, breath short.

Harrison inhaled slowly as he stared down at his pale feet. Skin prickling with cold and muscles trembling, he felt pitiful, but he refused to let a sound pass his lips. He'd deny his tormentors the joy of hearing his whimpers. He heard them shuffle in front of him while snide laughs and comments passed between them. So they had woken up and while he'd tried to feel safe, taken the opportunity to humiliate him.

Harrison hated himself for feeling shocked at their behaviour.

Droplets of water continued to run down his face, dripping from long eyelashes. Still, Harrison stared down, focusing on the water disappearing down the drain. it was an usual occurrence, but until this moment they'd only thrown water at him in bed. A fitting wakeup for someone of his status, or so they'd told him. Most days they'd left after the first bucket of cold water, but they had remained this time. An attempt at cornering him with the unexpected, perhaps?

It had been unexpected enough that they had intruded on his only safespace. Harrison had felt safe in the shower area, protected behind a line of standard manners. He bit his lips harshly, feeling foolish for believing they actually had any decency at all.

He lifted his head and stared chilly at them, his housemates. "Are we done?"

They shifted and glanced at each other before laughing. "Far from it, Mudblood!" A blond haired boy smiled widely and stepped forward to throw another bucket of water. It hit Harrison like a wall of ice, numbing him further.

He heard them laugh in the distance. Rough, skinny hands pushed him against the shower wall, bruising his pale skin.

Harrison looked up into his tormentors' eyes, piercing them with his despair.

They hesitated momentarily before glancing at one another and laughing loudly. "This is only a warning." Of what he didn't mention. Nonetheless, Harrison could guess what they were trying to accomplish. Bury their own inferiority underneath the misery of another.

He studied them as they turned around to leave. A group of children laughing happily together as they strolled out hand in hand. For them it was an act of bonding and friendship.

Oh, how wonderful, the things they'd all do together!

 **øØø**

It was laughable: the numbing bewilderment that had spread through his chest. Coating his tongue in thick disappointment, Harrison could only blame himself for allowing hope to take root.

 _Never hope, for hope is a recipe for disaster._

In the end, his mother's one and only advice gave nothing but misery.

His life at Hogwarts had been painted in red as his common wizards made sure to remind him of his blood status at every possible instance. Meticulous in their silent acts, certain no one else saw them cornering one of their own. An invisible knife running quietly over his skin, leaving scars no one else but him could see.

They were the result of a society where no one felt superior and everyone were so certain that they in fact were. It ended in a jumbled and confused mess. Children desperately following a mindset that inherently ran in the society.

At night, hidden from cruel remarks and desperate actions, Harrison felt uncertain if he could blame them. He'd probably done the same if he'd grown up in their society. Even now, when Muggleborns were targeted, he'd stand by. Staring down their tear drenched face, delighted by the fact that he wasn't targeted.

Their pitiful cries were easily ignored.

Never were they outright wounded. Pushed and pushed until they'd cave in and submit. That was the way of the game. Lost books, splintered pens and burned uniforms. The longer he stayed there, the more he saw of his own world. The wonder he'd felt had dimmed. Eyes darkening at the slurs and mouth twisting in distaste.

There was a storm refusing to leave. Never-ending and confusing, all inhabitants were following the pull of the wind. Gullible and mute, they would all feel content. Every week a few steps closer to self-destruction.

 **øØø**

Then one morning, three months after the sorting, Harrison awoke to eerie silence. The sheets were warm and comforting, his curtain mostly closed. Only a small ray of light shone through the opening.

He swallowed and pushed the blankets away slowly. Holding his breath, he listened for the footsteps he'd come to expect. Nothing, only the soothing silence of a calm morning. Harrison pulled the curtain away and slipped his bare feet out onto the cold floor. Beds left empty, clothes forgotten at the floor, they'd gone off without a sound. A fast look at his shelves revealed them untouched. Books left unburned by his bed.

The fact that he'd awaken by himself this morning worried him more than he liked to admit.

On the way down to breakfast, he walked past several from his house, but none even gave him a glance. It felt like he had awoken in an alternative reality. One where he lacked substance and moved through the world as an invisible creature.

Silent, occupied with conversations within their group and completely disinterested in his slow decent past them. The corridors suddenly felt uncomfortably small. Constricting and suffocating him in total indifference.

Harrison was uncertain if he wanted to laugh or scream.

His arrival into the Great Hall was left unnoticed. Every table overflowing with food and loud conversations. Laughs and jokes swirling around the room. Wide smiles, mouths stuffed and controlled eyes. Harrison sat down at the end of the table and stared. Is this how they handled it? Acting like blind fools with a purpose. If they acted as though Harrison and his kind didn't exist, then they would simply disappear into the background?

It was ridiculous.

He glanced up as one elderly student sat down in front of him. She picked up a toast, pushed it into her mouth and leaned forward to listen to her neighbours busy discussion.

Mouth twisting he slammed his fork into the table. "Are you joking with me?!" Loud and clear, they'd all heard it. Some had even jumped in shock at his sudden exclamation. However, no one dared look in his direction.

Biting into his cheek, Harrison stood up in fury. Nails digging into his palms as he felt the social dagger dig into his throat. He opened his mouth to scream at them, but nothing emerged. The powerlessness suffocated his words and only air left his body.

Harrison bit into his lips and stalked out of the Great Hall, desperately trying to ignore the snickers following him out. Suppression, no matter what kind never ended well. Did they really believe that if they'd suppress it enough and it would bend over? Harrison knew for a fact that plants and grass, with time, grew past cobbled streets and bricks.

 **øØø**

It was unusually warm that February and Harrison had realised he could escape outside to the lake. Few students wandered down to the water so early in the year, so he'd sit alone for hours, unbothered by judging eyes. Even on cold days, he'd walk shivering over to his secret spot by the forest. Close to the water, with large oak trees behind him and slippery stones, Harrison found peace from the increasing pressure.

Bare feet splashing into the water, feeling the biting cold turn his toes numb, he allowed a soft, unknown melody to slip past his lips. It flowed through the air, seducing him into a comforting sense of security.

Eyes slipped close and for a moment, Harrison was the only person in the world.

"This is my spot," a silent voice, slithering and soft.

Harrison looked towards the source of the voice.

By one of the oak trees stood an older girl. Short, dirty blond hair and a plain face. With clear, blue eyes and dry lips.

Harrison frowned. "It doesn't belong to anyone."

"Good," she replied "then we'll share. " She sat down beside him, ignoring his cutting glare, and glanced down at the book in his hands.

"Breaking rules, I see?" She murmured. " _No books outside_! Isn't that what she said? The librarian."

Harrison stared down at the pages. "What do you want?"

Her laugh was strained and pained. "Never admit your sins, in tact with your house, I see." Mirth filled eyes, her only attractive feature. "Don't worry, I won't snitch. I'm "—"" her name would never matter. Harrison had already forgotten it.

Nonetheless, her surname gave him enough. "You're a muggleborn."

"So are you."

He looked away, bitter.

He saw her lean closer in the corner of his eye. "Awfully quiet, aren't you? And here I thought I'd finally find someone to talk to." Her strained smile was blinding, desperate.

Months later, after silent evenings spent by the water. She always intruding, desperately. Harrison found her there one evening, looking silently down into the water. Her blue eyes reflected the muddy water, the shard of light finally snuffed out. Harrison stod silently beside her, at loss for words. Without the clarity in her eyes, she was invisible.

"I won't be back here, next year. " Why'd she felt the need to tell him was unknown. They weren't friends, they really weren't. Harrison did not like her . "You should get away from here…" She turned, eyes meeting. Her blue crushed beneath his furious glare. Tears welled and she glanced away, shoulders hunching. "…before it's too late. They'll eat us up… I… We can't…"

He sat down beside her, annoyed at the tight feeling in his chest. They hadn't spoken much, but he already regretted sharing a few words with her over the past months. Harrison swallowed and looked away.

He'd never give up, never bow down to their wishes. As she had done.

He'd survive.

 **øØø**

As rainy days turned sunny, summer arrived. And with it an unforeseen complication arouse, when it became known that no student could stay at the school during the summer holidays.

As a result, Harrison had to bite the sour apple and accept that he had to return to his mother, if only for another summer. The trip back to London sped by painlessly and before he even was aware of it, he found himself back in a world he thought he'd left behind.

Harrison bit his lips, jacket under his arm as he trudged towards his mother's apartment. He had never meant to return. Planned on disappearing into another world of wonder. Forever.

 _So much wonder it's overflowing,_ he thought sarcastically to himself. A painful smile pulling at his lips.

As he rounded the corner, the first thing that caught his eyes was the window. Cracked, blackened and hanging from its hinges, creaking in the wind. His mind registered his movement only after he'd run towards the house. Breathing harshly as he stopped in front of it, baggage and jacked falling to the ground. Eyes wide in disbelief, humidity gathering in their corners.

The door had crumbled, floorboards caved in and bricks fallen down. There was no smoke, only the aftermath of the destruction. It was a ruin. Only a skeleton left after what could only have been a consuming fire.

Not a big loss for some, but for Harrison it had been a home. His eye stuck in pain and he blinked, refusing to let the treacherous tears fall. He hadn't meant to return. She meant nothing. Nothing at all!

If she had burned down together with the building, then she had only received what she deserved. Harrison realised he'd been gritting his teeth and tried desperately to relax his jaw, without success.

"It was quite the spectacle… " thin and frail, a voice at his side. "Large, red flames - oh dear, oh dear."

Harrison glanced at the elderly woman that had stopped at his side. Her wrinkly hands struggling with the weight of the groceries she was carrying. Eyes big in wonder. "Here admiring the destruction, boy?" She turned her beady eyes at him.

Harrison looked away, blinking. "Yes…" Shifting on his feet, a ball of emotion stuck in his throat. "I've been away, I didn't know it had burned down." _If she had burned down._

She coughed then smiled in-between bloody fingers. "A few months ago it went up in a… bang! Quite unusual, like an explosion. I have never heard anything like it."

"Was there anyone inside?" The air silenced, wind cutting into his skin. A Hush. The longest second of his life.

"Nothing was found, unfortunately. Something macabre would've been nice for once…" She laughed silently. "Oh well, tragedies… good day, boy" Feet dragging over the ground, she heaved herself forward. Heavy breathing.

Harrison inhaled harshly, refusing to acknowledge the droplets of water running down his cheeks.

It still smelt like burned porridge.

 **To Be Continued!**


	5. V

Another update :) And while I feel that this chapter is slightly overworked. I just can't rewrite it again, so here it is! Enjoy!

Warning: this chapter is not beta read, so I apologise for any grammatical mistakes.

* * *

 **Something wicked comes this way**

 **V**

 **øØø**

London had always been unforgiving. Even when he'd had a roof above his head, Harrison had never felt particularly safe. And now that he was lacking both a guardian and housing, he had no trouble imagining what kind of fate was waiting for him around the corner.

And while Harrison hadn't grown up on the streets, he was no fool. The chance of a 12-year-old boy surviving the night was slim. No, not alone. Something had to be done. And unfortunately, he knew all to well where unwanted children were thrown away. It was the place where his mother's _friends_ disposed of the trash, their own children.

However, oddly enough, Harrison held no grudge against them. Couldn't even blame them. Not when he would've done so himself. No matter how horrible the orphanages could be.

He knew he ought to be thankful that she had kept him, but she had been despicable.

 _Be grateful, I kept you!_

He had been a burden.

 _She_ had been a burden.

Harrison bit harshly into his lip, teeth digging into soft flesh. The harsh smell of ash and burned wood stung into his nose while a soft summer wind rustled past. Drying his shed tears.

He had not cried for her.

It was a desperate attempt at convincing himself. He sniffed slightly, forcing down the tears before shuffling down the street, feet heavy as led.

Cassandra had brought him there once. He'd screamed at her or one of her visitors. And while Harrison couldn't quite remember the details nor reason for his punishment, he could still feel the terror. She'd had a painful grip around his wrist, tugging him along towards the house of horror. Once there, standing outside the grey building she had kneeled down behind him and pulled him back against her chest, into a frigid embrace. Cassandra had breathed harshly into his ear and gripped his chin, forcing his head upwards. Harrison still remembered it. The building looming oppressively over them, darkening further with every beat of his frightened heart.

 _If you don't behave. I'll leave you here._

Tears and snot had been running down his face, coating her thin fingers in watery fluid.

 _They love small children._

Harrison had not understood her statement until years later. After he'd heard the stories. Rumours of the grown men and women that did the unspeakable.

Yes, he thought with a shiver. Even now, as he could spot the orphanage in the distance, it frightened him.

Wool's orphanage was as grey and dark as he remembered. A square building surrounded by tall, metal railing. Run down with old gates screaming on their hinges.

Harrison hesitated and froze by the gate. Plagued by memories and horror stories: a conditioned response his mother would've been proud of. She had succeeded in creating a nightmare, a way of controlling her untruly child.

Swallowing, he stepped past the gate and slowly made his way towards the entrance. Heavy and imposing, the door loomed over him. Harrison bit down his fear and knocked twice. The sound echoed inside the building. A rumbling sound, a clear warning to stay away.

Not soon after, the door swung open to reveal a skinny woman with sharp features. "What?" She barked, beady eyes glaring down at him.

Harrison licked his lips, suddenly nervous that she would send him away. "Well…" He began, eyes stinging as he looked down at his shoes, eyebrows raising defensively."My mom just died." It came out as a hoarse rasp, the frailty suddenly clear to see. "I have nowhere to go. No relatives or…" Or _what_ Harrison couldn't say.

The woman in front of him snorted and ran a spindly hand over her oily hair, pushing it out of her face. "Poor you, eh?" It was clear she hadn't believed a word he'd said. Somewhere, in the few minutes they had been standing here, she had, apparently, decided that he was only there to scrounge on her generosity. He was only there to eat off of her hands. A leech.

Harrison saw her assess the situation, eyes glancing over the busy street before they slid back to him. "Can't very well refuse you, now can I?" No, they both knew she couldn't. Not with a street bustling with people.

He nodded, trying to ignore the wretched disinterest oozing off of her.

"Now, listen here, boy, you may call me Mrs. Cole or ma'am. I do not tolerate any funny business in my orphanage. When I let you sleep, you sleep. Eating time is scheduled and so is cleaning hours. I have a whip in my office for your fingers if anything leads back to you. God forbid there's enough problems here to begin with, I don't need another one."

"Understood?" Mrs. Cole spat.

Jaw tightening, Harrison ground out. "I understand."

"Good," she murmured and turned around. "Now follow me. I have the perfect rom for you, child." Walking stiffly down the hallway, Harrison could only follow silently.

The orphanage was even darker inside. And while laughter appeared from time to time, Harrison would swear he heard cries and prayers whispered through every door they passed. The hallway was oddly empty as they made their way down. Only a few children ran past them, thin and badly kept.

Up some stairs, then to the right and then to the left. Corridor after corridor. Door after door. Then Mrs. Cole halted and waved with disinterest, or avoidance, at a door and stalked briskly away, leaving Harrison alone.

Feeling uncomfortably abandoned, Harrison shock his head and pushed the door open. The room was pitiful. Small and grey with two thin beds, a shelf and a wide window.

As he trudged inside, he could feel the wind blowing through the window-frames. Too cold to be a summer breeze.

He flopped down on the empty bed, unused and lacking a pillow. In the background he could hear footsteps down the hall. Quiet and light, a child, no doubt. Suddenly, the sound vanished.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in _my_ room?" The soft voice of a young boy. Clearly irritated.

Harrison frowned and glanced up. The boy couldn't be much older than Harrison. Dark hair and pale skin, as though the summer had yet to reach him. He reminded Harrison of a porcelain doll, in some ways. Clear, glassy eyes and a frosty expression.

Pushing himself forward, Harrison intends on being the adult and introduce himself, but their eyes clashed. Forest green meeting dark, mahogany. And suddenly, an unexplained rush. An explosion. The ice beneath his feet cracked open and Harrison fell down into ice, cold water. His magic was overflowing. Out of control. Raging, whipping out like a natural disaster.

Harrison's magic had always felt like a frozen lake. Swirling underneath a thin layer of ice, the uncontrollable force roamed. The colder the lake, the thicker the ice, the better control he had.

So when the ice suddenly cracked, something horribly wrong was amiss. And not only had it cracked, it had broken apart. Large pieces of ice drifting apart to reveal a stormy sea.

His thoughts were in chaos, little made sense. The only thing he was aware of was the howling rush in his ears.

Suffocating him.

Harrison pried his eyes open and looked with confusion at the other boy. He was leaning up against the doorframe, pale and sweating. The energy in the room pulling and pushing at them both. Painful and merciless.

In the background, the sound of children laughing. Calm and excited, oblivious to the chaos between them.

Never-ending. A nauseous mixture of anger, frustration and confusion.

Loss of control.

Anger flared up in his chest and Harrison glared heatedly at the other boy. Like any child, he could not look at himself and find the problem. No, someone else had to be blamed.

Hot and fevered, Harrison shifted sluggishly as he gripped his bag. There was no place for thought, only action. He took a proper grip on the bag and pulled forward, throwing it with all his might. Magic saturated the air, rushing in respons to his movement.

The bag went flying towards the boy, straight into his stomach. A painful grunt escaped him as he stumbled backwards, falling.

The eye contact was broken and then, suddenly, silence. An emptiness that was impossible to explain. And while the chaos and forced connection between their magic had felt horribly painful. The emptiness was even worse.

Harrison hated him for it.

 **øØø**

The world was not just nor colorful.

Fairness didn't exist and some were chosen for more than others. Yes, it had been clear at an early age that he was different. Special even. He had _something_ flowing through him, a power surging through his very veins. Pulsing in tune with his heart.

Tom was _unique_.

Armed with sharp, fiery control, he could mould the world in his image. A push there and a pull here and skin would rip, bones crack and children scream. A clay ready to be moulded. Eager to please him.

However, his conviction cracked as it exploded outwards in a raging inferno.

Now, the day had been horribly common up until that moment. No one had invited him into their games. _Not that he wanted to be included._ And he'd spent most of the morning alone, under a tre with a re-read book between his frail fingers.

 _He hated them._

It had ended with Tom stomping his way to his room, bitter and angry. Ignored, yelled at and mistrusted: he'd rather be alone.

Walking up the corridor, he noticed that the door stood open. He frowned and sneered, the chaotic force of his anger building in his chest. Uncontrollable and desperate to lash out.

Inside, on the empty bed, sat a thin and frail boy with messy coal-black hair. And then after the words had left his lips, with no warning. No foreboding itch in his chest. Only a pair of poisonous eyes. The flame in his chest ignited and spread, like a wildfire.

It had surged out of his body. An unexplained need to feel and connect with… _something. Someone._

Tom opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped. And then, he felt the ground shift beneath his feet as he fell backwards. Emptiness, unusual and cold. Disorienting him as he felt his back hit the floor.

He exhaled loudly and squeezed his eyes shut. The weakness cut into him. _He never cried._ His eager, dark companion returning with vengeance and rage.

Tom opened his eyes and glared at the other boy.

He, Tom Marvel Riddle, was _unique._

It disappointed him. He wasn't alone. However, Tom refused to believe that he was ordinary. The power he wielded could create and destroy.

Now, Tom was a bitter, pitiful child. Young and naive, lost in his own ideas of what was right and wrong. There had never been anyone there to show him the invisible rules and norms. So he'd lashed out again and again: desperate to be corrected. Until he'd been too old and stuck to realise he'd wandered of the path.

Some souls never returned from their wander in the woods. They'd only go deeper and deeper.

Desperate and unknowingly screaming for help.

Like any lost child.

 **øØø**

"We're supposed to sleep," Tom gritted out into the darkness.

They were both tucked into bed. Lights switched off and blankets pulled over their chilled bodies.

Mrs. Cole's footsteps could be heard up and down the corridor, checking each room for the night, hissing silent threats.

Harrison glared at Tom. "Shut up, " he refused to sleep.

No reply came, only a heated glare.

Silence.

He pursed his lips. "Harrison," he whispered. Uncertain if he was yielding or making a move to win the game.

"What?" Surprise coloured with uncertainty. It had been unexpected.

"My name, it's Harrison. Harrison Law." His eyelids were heavy, eyes stinging with the lack of sleep. However, Harrison didn't dare close them, knowing he'd fall asleep. He'd loose the game.

Then quietly and with surprisingly frailty, the other boy answered. "Tom."

And thus their fate was sealed.

 **øØø**

Harrison trudged after Tom. Red rimmed eyes, heavy eyelids and pale skin. Questioning his sanity. They'd made it through the night without any sleep. Only exchanging glares. The competition had lasted until Mrs. Cole had appeared banging on their door. Screaming about chores and duties that had to be done.

Harrison had looked away from Tom, eyebrows furrowing. Desperately trying to imagine how he could avoid the rest of the orphanage.

So when Tom had mentioned Diagon Alley, Harrison hadn't hesitated to agree. And now, he regretted his eager attempt at escaping the orphanage. Especially, since Tom probably imagined he'd manipulated Harrison. However, he was almost too tired to care. Too emotionally wounded to worry.

 _He missed her._

 _No._

Sighing loudly, Harrison glanced over Diagon Alley. As always it was alive with people, all going through their daily business. Money flowing from their pockets.

They made their way down the street and Harrison tried desperately to ignore the glares they were sent. He tugged at his clothes, uncomfortable.

"What?" Tom barked at him, sneering.

Pursing his lips, Harrison shock his head dismissively. "You'll understand it. Soon enough." A suspicious glance through the crowd. "Just… let's go." He gripped Tom's arm and began walking down the street with the other in tow.

When they halted in front of Olivander's, Tom wrung his wrist out of Harrison's grip. "Don't touch me!" He rubbed his wrist, clearly uncomfortable with the contact.

Harrison looked away. "Whatever," Then waved at the shop in front of them. "It's here: Olivander's Wand shop. Now stop making a scene."

Tom shrugged and pushed past him, leaving him alone outside. Harrison sighed quietly to himself, eyes drawn to the door as closed behind Tom.

He could clearly remember the first time he'd been there. Buying his wand.

 **øØø**

 _Harrison entered the shop, amazed at his surroundings. A broad smile on his lips. Wooden floors and dim lightening. Dusty but not unwelcoming. It had an odd calming atmosphere._

 _Behind the counter stood an old man. White hair and painted in wrinkles, a welcoming smile spreading on his lips as he spotted Harrison. "You're finally here, I see." He whispered with a soft smile. "Good, good."_

 _Harrison hesitated but nodded nonetheless. Confusion painting his expression. "I'm…." Coughing, he looked away from the old man's clear eyes. "I'm here for a wand." He felt foolish. Of course, he was there for a wand._

 _Olivander chuckled, waving his hand. "I know, I know. Now, come closer child. Let us see." He nodded quietly towards Harrison, before he made his way down the tall shelves behind the counter. Picking out small boxes every meter or so._

 _He returned after a while, placing the long boxes on the counter._

 _"_ _Let us try." Olivander muttered and gave a wand to Harrison. Gently placing it in his hand. As soon as the wood touched his palm, the lamp beside him exploded. Glass flying everywhere._

 _"_ _No, no, on, no, no, no." The wand was snapped out of his hand and replaced by another, as the man shock his head, busty eyebrows drawn low._

 _At the second wand, boxes came flying out of the shelves._

 _The third one resulted in a sudden downpour, large raindroplets falling down from the roof._

 _And each time, Olivander would snatch the wand out of his hand, muttering to himself. Eyebrows falling lower and lower in thought. Then he froze, hand hovering over a box, before he stared Harrison deeply into his eyes._

 _Olivander pursed his lips and silently. "Of course," he murmured and hurried past the shelves, finger in the air._

 _When he returned, Olivander had another dark box between his fingers. He looked back at Harrison. "I thought it was supposed to wait some years - decades - but it seems it's time. A bit early, don't you think?" He seemed sorrowful._

 _The wand slipped into his palm with ease and filled his body with a calm, ice flow. A quiet stream._

 _Olivander nodded. "There it is," He stared into Harrison's green eyes. "Phoenix feather for a reason, redwood for now and 13 1/2 for a purpose."_

 _Harrison frowned but fished out his money, intending to pay for the wand._

 _However, Olivander shock his head. "No, at another time," then with sadness. "I'm sorry, child."_

 **øØø**

Harrison stood back as they walked into Olivander's. Nothing had changed, the only difference was the daylight streaming though the window. Painting the room in an another hue.

He saw Tom walk up to the counter, staring expectedly around. Olivander was no where to be seen, not a sound apart from their light footsteps.

"Hello?" Tom called out, foot tapping impatiently.

The shop shivered and then Olivander appeared behind one of the shelves, moving towards the counter with a mild smile. "Welcome." He glanced over Tom before spotting Harrison standing by the entrance. Lightening up, he nodded excitedly and turned around without another word. "I know exactly what…"

Harrison could see Tom standing completely still, eyebrows drawn down in confusion. At least he wasn't alone with his bafflement over Olivander's words and actions.

Once he returned, Harrison noted that he was carrying only one box. "This is meant for you, I'm afraid." Olivander murmured as he gave the wand to Tom.

Tom grasped it with eagerness, words falling on deaf ears. The air heated as the shadows gathered around Tom. Embracing him silently. "This is it," Tom breathed.

"It is." Olivander replied.

Harrison stared at the wand, confused. He brushed his hand over his pocket, feeling his own wand hidden beneath a layer of cloth. Their wands were too similar. No, similar was not good enough to explain the likeness between the two wands.

From Harrison's perspective, there were two of the same wands.

"It has a phoenix feather core, 13 1/2 itches yew." He heard Olivander whisper as he looked up, meeting the elderly man's blue eyes. "You'll understand."

 **To Be Continued!**


	6. VI

Warning: This hasn't been beta read. I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Courage Is Found In Unlikely Places**

 **\- J. R. R. Tolkien**

 **VI**

 **øØø**

"You're not supposed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. At least not until you turn seventeen. I know you've been… warned about it." Harrison murmured as he stared uncertainly at Tom.

The other boy was sitting on the floor, wand ready between his thin fingers and a spellbook open in front of him. His dark hair was draped across his face, often brushed away from his eyes only to slip back minutes later, shading his focused eyes. Harrison was settled quietly in the corner of his bed, back against the wall, as he tried to make the grey, rainy day pass with as little interaction with the other boy as possible.

Tom had proven to be both hopelessly childish but uncomfortably mature at the same time. The other children would trip down the stairs, lose precious treasures and avoid Tom, knowing, if only subconsciously, the pleasure Tom found in their suffering. Harrison could see it, the arrogance and self-entitlement oozing from the younger boy.

Tom sent him a cutting glare. "And? There's no one here to see me break any rules. They'll never know." His lips twitched, conceit twisting his handsome face grotesquely. Such an expression had no right to be on the face if a child.

"No, you fool, that's not how it works. It's a trace - a magical trace on your wand - they don't have to be here to catch you." He laughed loudly, delighted in seeing Tom's cheeks flame up in embarrassment.

Swallowing, Tom frowned down at his wand. "Have you seen it?" He asked and leaned back to stare at Harrison.

"What?"

"Have you actually seen the curse?" Tom repeated nonchalantly, ignoring the scandalized expression spreading across Harrison's face.

Straightening, Harrison leaned forward in his bed to study Tom quietly. How long would it take to strangle a human being? "It's called a trace, it's completely different from a curse. Don't you know anything?" It was a cheap shot and they both knew it by the judgment in Tom's dark eyes.

"I don't care what it's called," Tom snorted quietly. "Answer my question: have you seen it?"

"Of course I haven't seen it! It's not something you can see, at least not normally. It's there whether it's visible or not." He was standing in front of Tom now, jaw tight and eyes blazing. Magic twisted in the air, demanding attention. Tom had an uncanny ability to rile him up.

"Then… " the other boy began, "Then how can you be certain it's there?" He was challenging Harrison, daring him to act. They could both feel the violence sitting at the edge of Harrison's magic. Ready to be utilized.

"Wha-" Harrison snapped his jaw shut, exhaling loudly. Oh, how easy it would be. To hurt him. His magic was at the tip of his fingers, begging to be used. Whispering sweet promises in his ear. He just had to let go.

Tom stood up to face Harrison. "Technically, if you can't see it and its existence is based solely on adult's warnings… then there's a possibility that it doesn't actually exist."

"No," Harrison ground out. "No, no, no. That doesn't even make sense." He lied, refusing to agree with Tom's reasoning.

"It doesn't?" Stepping closer, Tom lifted his wand to press it into Harrison's chest. "Adults always lie. They make up stories to get us to behave. This isn't any different."

Refusing to back away, Harrison leaned forward, ignoring the uncomfortable bite from the wand tip. "Say you're right and it doesn't exist… would you risk it?"

"Risk what?" Tom returned.

"Getting caught," he could see Tom's mind reeling, several scenarios running through his head. In the end, even though Tom thought himself cunning and clever, he was nothing but a child.

He could see the other boy's jaw tighten and his eyes harden, but he didn't reply to Harrison.

"Haven't thought that far, have you?" Harrison took every petty hit he could get. He had realized his limitations since arriving in the wizarding world. No matter how uncomfortable it had been, Harrison knew he was weaker and younger than most of his kind. However, in his understanding, he had attained something Tom had not. He had learned when to pick his fights.

Tom stepped back from Harrison but kept the wand pointed at him, "According to you, we're considered adults in the magical world when we're seventeen. Which means we are underage at the moment. Now, I could care less about the rules. The only thing that matters is how they punish us for breaking the law. I'm just a child. I'm stupid and naive. I don't know how their world works. I only know this filthy place." As he spoke his voice rose in volume and the tone changed slowly, mockingly imitating younger children.

Harrison frowned and stepped forward, intending on taking the wand from Tom with force. "Wait, let's not-" He could see his mistake as soon as he moved. Tom's shoulders rose in defense and his mouth pulled up in a ghastly attempt at a smile. "Don't you know?" His eyes were cutting through Harrison. "The worse the punishment the more fun it is to get away with it." Then he inhaled sharply before uttering. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Nothing had happened, of course. And Harrison felt embarrassed when he realized he'd raised his arms in defense. There had been nothing else to expect from a first-year spellbook. Why he'd felt unease creep up his spine could only be explained by the violence he'd seen in Tom's eyes.

The movement had been slightly wrong and Harrison was way too heavy to attempt to lift on Tom's first attempt at magic. Still, the intention had been there.

A loud crack broke their silence. "Boys," a hoarse voice murmured and they both whipped towards the sound. "We've been waiting for your call." It was a wizard, standing quietly in front of their door, blocking any escape. Dark, dirty robes and dirty brown hair together with pale skin and an untrimmed beard, adding nothing positive to his overall presentation.

Harrison shifted uncomfortably and stepped closer to Tom, before realizing how foolish it looked. Like he was trying to protect the other boy.

He could see Tom slumping in the corner of his eye. A shiver beginning to run through the younger boy. "What… who are you?" If Harrison hadn't known better, he'd seen only what Tom allowed. A small, thin boy of only 11-years-old. Scared and naive.

The wizard's eyes slid over their small frames. First over Harrison's appearance and then Tom. He exhaled in obvious disgust. "I don't earn enough for this shitty job, but at least you had the mind to do it with another… wizard." Then he pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. Coughing into his palm, he straightened his back to read. "I am from the Department of Underage Magical Restriction, UMR. We are an important part of the Ministry of Magic that keeps order and upholds the rules of our society. The representative visiting you - that would be me - deals specifically with Muggel… Mudbloods. Our section was created when it became clear that your kind had difficulty with upholding the rule without proper guidance. Therefore, at the first offense, rather than issuing a penalty, a representative will arrive with proper information and warnings. At the second offense, the resulting penalty could be expulsion at worst." The wizard halted and snorted.

The arrogance was uncomfortably familiar. Harrison had seen it every morning at Hogwarts. There they were two small children, abhorred from the first glance because they had been born from the wrong parents.

Tom shifted beside him and Harrison glanced at him, seeing the confusion swimming through the younger boy's eyes. He'd obviously expected something else than revulsion.

The wizard continued undisturbed by them. "Let me cut the story short: we know when and if you decide to use magic outside of school, Mudblood. The moment you have the intention we're notified and as soon as that spell leaves your lips we'll know."

"I'm sorry… sir," his shoulders were shaking, head hanging in defeat. Harrison was almost impressed until Tom pointed a finger at him. "I'm so sorry, he-" Tom glanced at Harrison, a small smirk pulling on his lips. "said that-"

"Oh, do shut up." The man drawled, cutting Tom off as he brushed a hand through his dirty hair. "I don't care for your excuses." Then he sent a last look around their grey room before he grudgingly nodded. "Good day," and he disapparated with a crack.

Harrison sighed loudly. "I told you so,"

They didn't speak to each other for the rest of the night.

 **øØø**

 _The wind rustled softly through Harrison's hair as it swept past him. Closing his eyes, he turned his face towards the sun to let it heat his cold skin. Caressing him with a gentle hand. Soft yet unforgiving. Oh, how could he ignore such love? Harrison let his eyes slip open, eyelashes brushing against his skin as he turned his eyes towards the sun._

 _He was immediately blinded._

 _The sand beneath his bare skin was warm and smooth. And Harrison pushed his toes down into the sand as he looked down, trying to adjust his eyes to the brightness._

 _Slowly, as his sight returned, he could focus on the milky, white sand. He glanced around at the landscape, behind him a desert as far as the eye could see and in front of him a never-ending, quiet sea. The wind brushes past him again, but the sand doesn't move with it. Even the sea was unmoved, still like a mirror. Reflecting the blue sky,_

 _It was eerily still. Only the quiet sound of his breath made itself known._

 _However, just as the world seemed to consume itself, a soft rumbling sound caught Harrison's attention. The atmosphere had shifted and the wind began to pick up. Catching the sand and throwing it into the air. The sea sloshed and splashed, large waves building up. Then the sky boomed and cracked, dark clouds gathering as it began to pour down. Drenching him._

 _Harrison stared at the disturbance. The chaos building up around him._

 _Transfixed, Harrison's eyes were glued to the sea as the surface broke and a being, a man, began to ascend. With slow steps, dripping with water, he walked towards Harrison with purpose. Heavy, black robes heavy with water, slowing his every step. His black hair sticking to his pale skin._

 _Harrison was glued to the ground._

 _Then the man stepped onto the sand. They were close now. And even though he'd stepped out of the sea, he radiated heat, like a furnace._

 _He stared at the man, breath lost as their eyes met. Dark, crimson eyes, reminding Harrison of freshly spilled blood. That single rose he'd seen at the flowers market. Glowing with might._

 _The man was beautiful._

 _Harrison exhaled slowly, awe saturating his chest as the man stepped close to him. Wet hands rising to caress Harrison's cheek. His palms were so incredibly warm on Harrison's skin. Like the sun._

 _Soft but intense eyes stared longingly into Harrison's. "Harry," the stranger's smooth voice was carried away with the wind. His face twisted with sorrow. "It seems I've found you in the wrong time period again."_

 _An explosion carried across the sea, loud and booming, catching Harrison's attention. The world shivered underneath their feet. A warning._

 _The stranger frowned before leaning down and pressing their foreheads against each other. Harrison could feel their breath mingling. "Where are you?" He murmured,_ searching _Harrison's green eyes. "You promised me you'd return to me, but I can't find you anywhere but here." Water ran down his eyelids._

 _Harrison stared at the man in confusion. "What?"_

 _The world_ rumbled _around them. And from the corner of his eye, Harrison could see the ground crumbling apart like puzzle pieces to reveal a dark void beneath. His breath quickened and he tried to step back, away from the darkness, but his body was unable to move. His feet were frozen to the ground and he could only continue to stare into the man's eyes. Calm and drenched in blood. Soft with understanding and hard with longing._

 _He could feel the ground rumbling beneath him and then suddenly he felt the rush from falling. And their connection was broken as Harrison was swallowed up by the darkness._

Harrison shot up from his bed, breath caught in his throat. Sweat was dripping down his brow, skin heated from exertion. Leaning forward, he inhaled and exhaled slowly. The sickening feeling of falling still stuck in his body.

A glance over at the other bed revealed Tom, flat on his back with his hands folded together. He slept like a man in a coffin. Completely silent, so quiet in fact that if Harrison hadn't known any better he would've worried for the other boy's wellbeing.

Slowly, Harrison slipped out of his bed, eyes fixed on Tom. He needed to be alone in the night and would rather not wake him up. He tip-toed to the window, a shiver running through him at the chill. The sky was clear with a bright half moon illuminating the darkness. Hiding the stars behind its light.

He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes as his shivers subsided. His heartbeat beating regularly again.

When Harrison's opened his eyes again, the dream had faded. It had lost its colors. And he could no longer quite remember what he'd been afraid of.

 **øØø**

The orphanage had been different than imagined. While Cassandra had been completely wrong about it on certain aspects, she had been correct about its lack of love. It held no affection for its inhabitants and the disregard for them could be felt in every brick of the building.

It was cold, grey and uninviting.

And Mrs. Cole had, after years and years under its roof, become a carrier of its indifference. She cared little for them but took care of the house with such meticulousness that one would've thought it was her child.

The actual orphans were lucky, according to her, to live in such an important house and she was strict in distributing chores to them. Everything to keep the house in utmost condition. The punishments for misdemeanor were swift and predictable. Most often being delivered as slaps or sharp cuts from a ruler. Harrison had seen some of the younger children huddled together, tears running down their dirty faces as they nursed their bleeding palms. However, as long as one kept to the rules and did the chores, Mrs. Cole ignored their existence altogether.

All in all, the orphanage was pristinely clean and horribly cold and Mrs. Cole kept to herself when she wasn't punishing the few unruly children. There was no need for her to terrorize them more than necessary. After all, without her, there would be no food on the table.

No, Mrs. Cole and the orphanage were forgettable at most times. It was the orphanage's inhabitants that tormented each other. Stealing, hurting and humiliating the weaker children. Anything to crawl to the top of the food chain. Oh, how cruel the underdeveloped mind could be. It reminded Harrison of Hogwarts.

The thought brought a smile to his lips. How horrified the high and mighty would be if they knew how similar they were to these dirty Muggles.

Harrison strolled down the hallway, trying to ignore the uncertain stares the other children sent him. Most had expected him to end up in the hospital after he'd been put in Tom's room. However, after several months without any bruises and tears, they'd begun to keep a distance from him. Uncertain by his unpredictability. Yes, his lovely roommate had done Harrison a favour by terrorizing all the other children.

Luckily the summer was coming to an end and the train would be leaving the very next day. Harrison wouldn't miss the orphanage and it was unfortunate that he had to bring Tom with him. He wondered momentarily if he couldn't just leave the younger boy there. After all, it was completely possible that, if left behind, Tom wouldn't find the way to Hogwarts. Tom had a dangerously sharp intellect, but his sense of direction had been lost somewhere.

As Harrison walked towards his room, he noticed Mrs. Cole standing stiffly by their opened door, mouth set in a sharp line. Continuing forward, he noted the heavy, black tome in her arms, kept close to her chest. A golden cross painted delicately across it.

He stepped closer and felt as though he'd stepped through a wall of fire. The atmosphere around their room was uncomfortably warm and sweat instantly began to gather on his skin. It felt like he was standing above a furnace. Harrison glanced at Mrs. Cole and wondered how she could seem so collected in the heat. Couldn't she feel it? The burning sensation of Tom's magical energy.

"Now that you are leaving tomorrow, I thought it time for another session." Harrison heard her whisper.

Continuing forward, undisturbed by their conversation, he stepped past her to slip into his room. She only grunted slightly at his appearance, ignoring him otherwise. Originally intending on retrieving a book and retreating to the garden, Harrison froze by the sight that greeted him.

Tom was standing completely still in the middle of the room. Jaw tight, skin horribly pale and eyes unusually blank.

"Let us get moving, Tom." Mrs. Cole murmured coldly.

Standing between them, unable to move, Harrison could see Tom nod stiffly in reply.

"Come along then, the priest is a busy man." She smiled softly and turned slightly, expecting Tom to follow her. However, when Tom refused to move, Mrs. Cole sent a disapproving stare his way. "Riddle," she began crisply and a shiver ran down Harrison's back. The glint in her eyes promised little good, whether the other boy listened to her or not. Something was completely wrong

Tom glanced at Harrison, surprising him with poorly concealed fright in his eyes. After expertly hiding it for so many months the small child had made an appearance. It threw Harrison for a loop, destroying his very understanding of the younger boy.

Harrison glanced between Tom and Mrs. Cole, uncertain.

"Come along, child. We've been over this many times, it is for the good of this orphanage and your future school. You will thank me when you are older." Mrs. Cole sighed loudly. "And our priest is such a wonderful man, he was looking forward to seeing you again."

A shudder ran through Tom's small frame, but he nodded nonetheless and trudged past Harrison without a glance. Mrs. Cole smiled sweetly down at him and gripped his shoulder, nails digging into his clothes, as she pushes Tom in front of her. Harrison could see Tom wincing in pain as they turned to leave.

Harrison felt conflicted. He was nothing more than a child himself. Weak, small and naive: powerless in front of the world, in front of adults. However, Harrison had been abandoned and mistreated. Cast aside by the very person that had been supposed to be there for him. Harrison had been lost in the dark woods. Alone and scared without anyone to turn to.

He knew the desperation in Tom's eyes all too well. It had been painfully familiar and before Harrison knew what he was doing, he stepped towards Tom and Mrs. Cole. "Stop," he commanded loudly, surprising himself with the force behind his words.

Mrs. Cole halted and glanced back at him. "This has to wait, boy." She murmured dismissively and proceeded to give Tom another harsh push that resulted in a quiet grunt.

"No, stop. He's not going anywhere with you." Harrison repeated loudly, lifting his chin in a desperate attempt at seeming taller than he was.

"No?" She whispered threateningly, mouth twisting in controlled anger. "Who are you to tell me what to do, child? This is my orphanage. It is in my right to decide what to do with it and you. I could throw you out on the streets if I wanted to."

Harrison swallowed and walked quietly past her, ignoring her burning stare, to step between her and Tom. He was shivering now, uncomfortable and, he refused to acknowledge it, alarmed at his own actions.

Mrs. Cole pursed her lips tightly as she stepped closer to loom over Harrison. "And what reason do you have for protecting this hateful child? This… devil? Did he threaten you? Hurt you? There has to be some reason as to why you are standing here. Risking your bed for this… abandoned child. Not even his mother had wanted him." She murmured and a cruel smile spread across her aging face. "He killed his own mother to survive."

"It doesn't matter," Harrison replied, standing his ground and meaning every word. Tom was eerily quiet behind him.

She ignored his statement and continued. "I should've abandoned him at the doorstep and let him freeze to death in the night, but-" Mrs. Cole glanced lovingly down at the tome in her hand. "No, my duty is to cleanse him of the devil residing in his soul." Her eyes were alight with mirth and devotion. "So, move aside, child."

Fear spread through Harrison, uncertainty dominating him, but he refused to move. Courage was a foolish thing. Logic had no control over it. "No," he said, staring straight into her eyes.

Harrison's stare seemed to enrage her and she stepped forward angrily. "No? I will show you, you insolent child!" Stepping closer, she inhaled sharply as she raised her empty hand in a horribly familiar gesture. He could already imagine the stinging pain. The tears and the humiliation.

Harrison could remember the children coming out of her office, nursing their scarlet cheeks. Cassandra, his own flesh and blood, using violence whenever it had suited her. Whenever he had displeased her. Still, he had loved her. Desperate for her affection.

Fleetingly, the instinct to move slithered through him and Harrison considered running away. Until he remembered the younger boy standing behind him.

Anger blossomed in his chest. It was an emotion fuelled by the injustice of the situation. However, the anger was not there for his own sake but for Tom's.

The feeling frightened him more than anything else. Harrison had no need for anyone else than himself. Had he not promised himself that he would rise above everyone that had disrespected him? The wizards that had judged him. His housemates that loathed his very blood. The teachers that disregarded him. A world that threw him away, time after time.

Harrison only had himself to look out for.

Nonetheless, humanity was not something that could be controlled and empathy was involuntary. So, without proper thought of the consequences, Harrison lashed out.

Mrs. Cole doubled over and was thrown back, an invisible force smashing into her. Her feet were lifted off the ground momentarily, eyes widening in terror as her breath left her mouth in a silent scream. Then her head slammed into the brick wall behind her with a horrifying crack and suddenly everything was quiet. Terrifyingly still, Mrs. Cole was laying in a slumped heap on the floor.

Harrison hesitated, shocked and unable to look away from the elderly woman on the floor. A chilly hand touched his shoulder and Harrison shock in surprise, glancing back at Tom with wide eyes. The younger boy was staring at him in silence and indecipherable look in his dark eyes.

Swallowing, Harrison nodded quietly. "We're leaving today," he croaked before coughing to clear his throat. "Now."

"Of course," Tom's voice was soft, soothing almost.

"We're never returning, not… ever. Take whatever you need. Everything." Harrison said and looked slowly away from Mrs. Cole as he walked stiffly back to their room.

They gathered their few belongings in silence and with utmost haste. Harrison unable to concentrate properly on his surroundings. The hallway had been quiet throughout their packing. Not even a quiet whimper had been heard and the silence terrified him.

Mrs. Cole was still there when they stepped back into the hallway. Fresh and dried blood painting her silver hair grotesquely as it ran down her face to gather in a pool on the floor. The sight froze Harrison to the spot. Oh no, had he killed her? Fear and shame tugging at his mind, Harrison inhaled sharply, closing his eyes in mortification.

"Relax," he heard Tom whisper behind him and he opened his eyes to look at the other boy. Tom walked up to Mrs. Cole and crouched down beside her. Pulling her arm towards him, he placed two fingers on her wrist quietly. After a few seconds, he exhaled slowly and glanced back at Harrison. They stared silently at each other as minutes flew by, Tom searching Harrison's panicked expression. "She's alive," he said at last and Harrison nodded in acceptance, ignoring Tom's odd gaze.

He exhaled shakily and opened his mouth to demand an explanation. How could Tom be certain she had survived? There was so much blood. The dark liquid painting the pristine floor red. However, ignorance was bliss and Harrison snapped his mouth shut, ignoring the uneasy feeling in his chest.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured and stepped forward to grasp Tom's hand in his own because he could. Because Harrison had proven to himself that he wasn't weak. How, for the first time in his life, Harrison was not his mother's son. He could protect.

Tom was a hateful, horrible child and, in many ways, Harrison could agree with Mrs. Cole. However, Harrison had stood up for another human being. He had protected Tom.

He glanced back at Tom, ignoring the annoyed glare the younger boy was sending their joined hands. Tom had still not pulled back, if anything, he had unconsciously tightened his grasp on Harrison.

Harrison smiled softly to himself, pulling Tom down the hallway.

They were connected now.

 **To Be Continued!**


	7. VII

Warning: This isn't Beta Read, so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **It's A Lot Easier To Be Lost Than Found**

 **VII**

 **01.09.1941**

 _"Invasion day - we're ready. The invasion season is at hand. All the armed forces have been warned to be in constant readiness by September 1. - Mr. Churchill on July 29. Today is September 1. And Britain's armed forces are ready,"_ Harrison read out loud quietly, unconsciously pushing the newspaper closer and closer as he read on, lips furrowing in thought.

"You really should get some glasses," Tom murmured to him and Harrison glanced above the paper to stare disapprovingly at him. Irritation blooming in a familiar pattern. Tom was leaning back against the red, velvet seat of their compartment. Black, lustrous hair framing his youthful face and his loathsome, dark eyes focused on the passing landscape.

At 14-years-old Tom left much to be desired, in Harrison's opinion. The arrogance he had been so certain would be squashed by the wizarding world had not been quelled. No, if anything, it had risen to new heights throughout his 3 years at Hogwarts. Too charismatic for his own good. Childish beyond belief in his assumption that he was perfect.

Harrison may be a fool for sticking with the younger boy. However, he knew where to stick his nose and criticizing the conceited was a foolish affair.

"You're not listening," he replied instead of voicing his thoughts. Tom would hopefully learn at some point or another. "The war has been raging for 2 years now and every year they tell us it will be the last. It's only a question of time before the wizarding world will be affected."

Tom glanced at him with disgust. "How you could spend a penny on that nonsense, is beyond me."

"It's not nonsense. It concerns our country, doesn't it?" Harrison replied aghast, but not surprised.

" _Our_ country?" Tom sneered, leaning forward to stare at Harrison. His hair falling into his eyes. The air crackled familiarly as their magical energies snapped at each other. Always rising up for the challenge, eager at clashing.

"Yes," Harrison said clearly as he folded the newspaper carefully. "You may have forgotten, now that we're spending most of our time at Hogwarts, but both the Muggle and our wizarding world are placed in Britain." His voice was lecturing.

"Not forgotten, I blissfully decided to ignore that fact." Tom murmured, pushing a pale hand through his locks.

"Foolishly," Harrison corrected and leaned closer to Tom, pushing the newspaper into his face. Tom grunted in annoyance but accepted the paper. "Now, read, if you're capable of it." He tapped at the desired article, staring expectantly at the younger boy.

Tom sent him a scathing look but glanced down nonetheless. "4,400 tons of bombs in a month…?"

"Yes, you're doing very good, continue." It was an unnecessary comment, but when Tom glared at him at his childishness, Harrison only smiled widely at him. Daring him. Hoping he would take the bait.

However, it seemed that Tom had learned a thing or two from their earlier arguments and wistfully kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he inhaled and continued on with the article. "The RAF, hitting the enemy with ever-increasing power, dropped 4,400 tons of bombs on Germany and German-occupied territory during July."

"Stop," Harrison demanded and leaned back to stare expectantly at Tom. "What does this tell you?"

"That they're spending an awfully lot of money on the war." He scoffed in disgust. Harrison would've liked to think the disgust originated from the idea of war, but he knew otherwise.

Controlling the urge to reprimand the other boy, he shook his head. "That's true, but not what I'm trying to get through your thick skull." Harrison would call his consistent humiliation of Tom an unconscious habit, but that would be a lie. Their magic clashed all too pleasurably for him to avoid riling Tom up. Of course, Harrison would never outright admit it.

"Careful, Harry," Tom drawled condescendingly.

Harrison snatched the newspaper from Tom, grimacing forcibly. "Don't call me that, it sounds… odd." And it did, uncomfortably so. Like he'd seen it written somewhere: on a tombstone. "Let's back to the topic at hand: it's the bombs."

Tom tilted his head. "Obviously."

"Stop for a moment and consider the implications behind the article. The Royal Airforce flew to Germany and dropped 4,400 tons of bombs. 4,400 tons! London has already been hit repeatedly by the Germans last year. It's a wonder Diagon Alley hasn't been struck yet."

"It hasn't been hit yet, because it's hidden-"

"Tom, hidden doesn't mean invisible. We both know your ego matches your intellect, so quit playing ignorant. It doesn't suit you." Harrison drawled, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Tom leaned back and stared at Harrison, jawbone tightening in infuriation. The burning heat Harrison associated with Tom's magic flashed through the compartment, before reluctantly receding. "I don't care for Muggles, Harrison. The only thing I'm getting from this article and your assumption is that we're too close to the Muggle world. As long as there is a relative risk of Diagon Ally or any magical community being affected by the war, we're in desperate need of improvements to our wards and society."

Harrison sighed loudly and looked away from Tom. "Clearly trying to stimulate your empathic capabilities was a foolish idea."

The devastation and death were splashed all across the newspaper. It drew him close, leaving him breathless in heartbreak. Harrison kept his thoughts preciously to his heart, but in the end, it was too clear. There was little difference between them and the Muggles. They were both destroying themselves.

The only difference was that wizards dreamed of a world void of an _entire_ species. If Muggles could be regarded as a different species at all. Considering that two Muggles could give birth to a Muggleborn child.

Nonetheless, Grindelwald was certainly stirring the political scene with his anti-Muggle rhetoric.

Harrison glanced back at Tom, wondering, not for the first time if the decision to follow Tom had been a good one.

It was a foolish question: he'd fallen in love with the role of the protector and had been unable to discard it. Of course, Tom had no real need for a protector anymore, but it was too late to leave.

On his way down the rabbit hole, Harrison had lost something precious. A valuable thing he had locked deep, deep down in his subconsciousness. As long as he avoided the thought of it, then he would hopefully never realize just what he had lost.

The compartment door swung open and distant laughter filled their quiet solitude. Harrison glanced towards the sound with interest. Delighted at a distraction from his uncomfortable thoughts.

It was a young boy, clearly a first year judging by the boy's youthful faces and lack of house colors. Dark, brown hair and large, round glasses.

Harrison leaned forward and smiled softly at the boy's confused face. "I advise you to go somewhere else," he murmured as he glanced at Tom. "Unless you're here to make a deal with the devil."

Tom shook his head and turned a charming smile towards the boy. "Don't mind him. Can we help you with anything?" Eyes softening as he stood up: ever the gentleman. After all, every person had their usefulness.

The boy shuffled uncertainly and glanced shyly at Tom. "Sorry, I was just looking for-"

"Malcolm!" A voice boomed through the compartment as a familiar face made an appearance. Sharp glasses framing her soft face and her hair pulled back into a loose bun. "Seriously, of all the compartments you had to enter." She whispered in disbelief, gaze lingering on Tom.

"Minerva," Harrison greeted, a wicked smile pulling at his lips.

They'd spent quite a few potion classes together, studying the ongoing war between their housemates. A mixture of Slytherins and Gryffindors were obviously a recipe for disaster.

Minerva frowned and pushed Malcolm behind her, staring critically at Tom before she glared at Harrison. "Law… As a 5th year student, I would've thought you knew better," she stepped forward, lips pursing in disapproval. "Than to let a first-year enter the same compartment as… " Minerva's gaze slid towards Tom and they both knew what she meant. She saw Tom's charm and kindness for what it was. A weapon.

"You have nothing to worry about, McGonagall." Tom smile was too sharp to be welcoming and Harrison laughed in disagreement. "Tom, you have to be more convincing than that." He stood up and stepped towards Tom, leaning his weight against his shoulder. "Minerva saw straight through your act," he whispered into Tom's ear, reveling in the uncertain look Minerva sent them.

She coughed into her palm. "Please, stay away from my brother. He doesn't know any better."

Tom opened his mouth, clearly intending on saying something unnecessary. What he thought she wanted to hear. However, Harrison had no intention of staying silent. "Clearly," he replied and Malcolm shifted in embarrassment. "Intelligence doesn't seem to run in the family." He could see Tom frown in dissatisfaction. It spurred him on.

"Wha-" Malcolm sputtered.

"Malcolm, let's go," Minerva commanded stiffly, gripping her brother's arm. "He's the kind of trouble I told you to stay away from."

"Nonsense," Harrison smiled mischievously, feeling Tom's magic vibrate along with his anger. "I'm the right kind of trouble."

"Harrison," Tom murmured in warning: his displeasure badly concealed. Pushing Harrison's head down, he forced him down into a horrible imitation of an apologetic bow. He grunted at the sudden push. "I apologize for his behavior, McGonagall… " Tom then glanced towards her brother with a nod. "Malcolm."

Minerva shifted in discomfort but returned the nod. "No worries… All is forgiven." She seemed unsettled, but turned around nonetheless, hurrying out of the compartment with Malcolm. Slamming the compartment door behind her.

Tom sighed loudly into the silence after a few seconds and Harrison pushed himself away from him, frowning.

While he prided himself in being more understanding and emphatic than Tom, he had a tendency for sudden surges of viciousness. His subconsciousness grasping at every opportunity to fight. Especially, if it resulted in Tom's anger.

Neither of them mentioned it. Instead, returning quietly to their seats.

 **øØø**

Harrison's habitual lack of empathy had left him disoriented and, as a result, he'd noticed little of the continued journey, the sorting and the spectacular meal that had followed. It was only when he found himself sprawled in the common room's leather chair, feeling the warmth from the mantelpiece that he came back to his limbs.

The familiar sound of a quill slipping over thick paper was the only thing notifying him of Tom's presence. It was late: long past curfew and they were the only students remaining in the common room.

He exhaled loudly and felt his fingers twitch, the usual itch returning. Brushing over his pockets, he searched for the cure and, certainly, in his left pocket it was. Squarely packed with about 10 to 20 cigarettes. Technically, it was first legal in the Muggle world to consume tobacco at 16 years of age, but wizards cared little for laws that weren't their own. And since tobacco had never been distributed in their community, no laws nor opinion had been developed. Apart from the fact that it was a disgusting Muggle item. So, at 15 and 1/2, Harrison had little to worry about.

Harrison had grown up with half-smoked cigarettes beside his breakfast and Cassandra's constant smoke in the air. It was no wonder he'd developed an addiction. His first taste had been at 10 years of age after she had forgotten to put one out. It was a revolting habit.

He lifted a cigarette to his lips before glancing towards the fireplace in concentration. A soft inhale followed by a push and then a part of the flames branched off carefully, drifting through the air in the direction of his directing finger. Harrison had always found wandless magic uncomplicated. Of course, there were certain limitations, but mostly his magic accomplished his desires.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Tom staring at his feat in jealousy. No one could argue that Tom was a genius. However, Harrison had both age and lack of control on his side. Ever since he'd received his wand, Harrison had struggled with connecting to it. Always kept at a distance, never allowed to completely embrace it as his own wand.

Of course, he'd never tell Tom that his impeccable control over wandless magic originated from his own wand rejecting him.

"Mind the flames," Tom said loudly, withdrawing Harrison from his contemplation. The small flame had been slithering through the air towards him and in his musing, it had descended worryingly close to the chair.

Snapping back in concentration, he flicked it to his cigarette in a hurry. Lightning it carefully, Harrison extinguishing the flame with a wave of his hand.

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes in delight. The taste and smell brought him back. Back to the dirty kitchen table, the chair that would wobble if he leaned too far to the right and his mother by the oven. A cigarette in-between her frail fingers as she burned his breakfast yet again. It was home.

Harrison exhaled slowly, green eyes following the short-lived life of the expelled smoke. Glancing towards Tom revealed his face twitching in disgust. _And with good reason,_ Harrison thought quietly to himself. His chuckle broke the silence. "Want one?" He asked Tom, leaning forward to hand the cigarette over if he accepted.

"No," Tom replied. "It's Muggle poison. And I'd rather not smell like ashes."

"Oh, really? I adore the smell," Harrison brought the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling. "It reminds me of home."

Tom laughed loudly at that, resulting in a sharp glare from Harrison. "What's so amusing?" He asked, annoyed. Harrison had voiced his sentimental feelings and all he had received was a mocking laugh.

"It's ridiculous," Tom placed his quill down, leaning back in the couch. "The home you're talking about with such fondness is nothing but ashes. Along with your mother." His voice was sharp, cutting into Harrison's flesh.

"At least I had one, _Tommy_." He replied, smiling gruesomely at the younger boy. A familiar heat gathering in the bottom of his stomach. Harrison wanted to fight.

"Luckily for my mother," Tom murmured quietly, looking ready to throw a punch. It felt amazing for some odd reason. "She died before she had to sell her body to Muggles."

Harrison snorted. "Yes, instead she died in the gutter. Dirty and alone outside of a Muggle orphanage." He stood up and stepped towards Tom, looking down at him. "You're not any better than me, Tom. We're both the result of desperate Muggle women…" Leaning down, he softly exhaled smoke in his face.

He expected nothing less than retaliation, Tom was a prideful creature and had never reacted well to humiliation. Gripping his wand, Tom whispered an incarnation that pushed Harrison back into his chair, leaving him draped across it. Harrison laughed loudly as his own magic lashed out uncontrollably. Cutting into Tom's uniform, but never drawing blood. "Mind your words," Tom whispered, ignoring the wind whipping around them. "This is not the place for such _lies_."

The moment passed too fast, in Harrison's opinion. Disappointed he sighed loudly and brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling. "Indeed," he replied, looking into Tom's deep eyes. "Lies."

Footsteps descending the staircase broke their gaze and they both glanced towards the sound.

"Seriously, when will you two grow up?" The intruder asked at the sight of their disheveled states. Short blond hair, a fair face and tall in stature: the boy was often compared to the beautiful Veela. "One would have thought that 3 years of friendship would've loosened you up a bit. Alas…"

"Abraxas," Tom nodded, pushing his hair away from his eyes. "Did you get it?"

"I did," the 4th year Slytherin replied softly before glancing uncertainly at Harrison. "I was quite easy to get the invitation, considering the Ball will be held at Malfoy Manor. And the information… Let us just say it's not much of a secret in certain circles."

"I appreciate your help, Abraxas." Tom smiled charmingly, so appallingly convincing. "It's always good to be prepared. The more we know, the better we can navigate through the political landscape in the future."

Abraxas smiled wickedly, excitement passing momentarily over his face. It still surprised Harrison, the pure adoration on Abraxas' face. At first, he'd thought that his devotion came from Tom's ability to speak Parseltongue. It exposed his heritage and Pureblooded wizards loved clean, old blood more than anything. However, as time passed by and when Abraxas didn't find other interests, Harrison knew Tom had captured him in his web.

He exhaled another puff of smoke, pushing small amounts of magic into the air. Watching the smoke gathering to form the silhouette of a dragon. It slithered softly through the air before disappearing completely.

Staring surprised at Harrison, Abraxas stepped closer to Tom. Uncertain, as always, with the presence of Harrison in Tom's life. With his unpredictability and obvious power. "Well," Abraxas began, "see you tomorrow, Riddle."

"Good night, Abraxas," Tom replied, his attention draw to the thick envelope in his hands.

They heard Abraxas footstep recede, leaving them alone in silence.

"Now," Harrison murmured after a while, glancing towards the envelope. "Should we speak about those lies of ours again?" It was obvious, he would not know the content of the letter. Not before Tom thought it time to share the information.

Not for the first time, Harrison wondered what he was doing.

 **øØø**

Sleep had evaded him for hours, an uneasy sensation stuck in his body. It left him restless and fidgety.

Harrison inhaled slowly, his fingers itching for a cigarette. It would calm him: her proximity. He always found her in the smoke, because, in the end, even in death, in horrible memories, she had been his mother.

The thought left him conflicted.

Closing his eyes forcibly, he tried to let his busy mind slow down. Silence swept over him and nothing could be heard apart from soft snores in the background and the occasional shuffling from restless 5th years.

He inhaled softly, then exhaled.

Slowly, sleep slithered into the back of his mind. Like a snake. A warm hand pulling him carefully down into his subconsciousness. Vague dreams already coloring his eyesight.

 **"Staff room, 18:13, 27.9.1941."** A humid, breathless whisper in his left ear.

Harrison's eyes shot open and he sat up swiftly, throwing the blanket off of himself as he glanced around. Nothing. The curtains were pulled tightly around his bed. He was alone, shivering in shock.

A sickening feeling spreading through his chest.

 **øØø**

One late September, Professor Curthbert Binns wobbled slowly into the staff room, intending on making a large cup of tea before retreating to his bed. Long white hair draped across his shoulders and his wrinkled face twitched in fatigue. It had been quite a long day.

Goblin rebellions and Giant Wars: such interesting parts of their history. Binns could speak about it for hour upon hour.

It was a pity he had to speak of other matters at all.

Sighing softly in exhaustion, Binns sat down by the staff table, waving his wand stiffly at the kettle, cup, and tea. Then after a few minutes, a cup of steaming liquid stood in front of him, waiting to be consumed. He sipped on it carefully, minding the hot water.

A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be 18:11. It was late. His brittle body shaking with age. Even the weight of the teacup was beginning to pull on his muscles. It was about time he retreated to his chambers.

A few hours of sleep would do him some good.

Smiling at the thought, Binns stood cautiously up from the chair, surprised at the ease of the movement. It seemed only the thought of sleep had returned youthfulness to his bones.

Feeling wonderfully light, Binns trudged towards his chamber.

Leaving his cooling corpse slumped in the chair.

 **To Be Continued!**

* * *

A/N: Since no one seems certain when Minerva was born, I thought it would be alright to assume that she attended Hogwarts at the same time as Harrison and Tom. I'm not the biggest fan of OC characters, so I try to use canon characters for most of my story.

Also, I'm uncertain if skipping some years was a good decision, but I'd rather not write several chapters that meant little to the overall plot. So, yeah.

Btw, the articles they're citing are from the Daily Herald from 1st of September 1941. Quite real. It was a lot of fun to look through an old newspaper for articles!


End file.
